MisQ
by E. Wallace
Summary: Q drops the senior staff into yet another costume scenario, but one crewmember - thanks to some inside information - decides to play along rather than play out the expected protestation. That one change sparks a chain of events even Q didn't anticipate.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Paramount owns all things Star Trek, yippee for them.

A great many liberties have been taken with regards to historical accuracy. Hey, I'm messing around with Paramount's alleged canon, why shouldn't I mess around with history while I'm at it? I did do a bit of web surfing to get some of the details right; they just don't necessarily fall into the proper time frame. On the off chance that there are any medieval scholars or historians reading this, please accept my profound apologies in advance for any major mistakes.

Q is pretty much just a tool here, but I stuck with tradition and put his name in the title.

Mis-Q  
By E. Wallace  
2000

A crumpled wad of paper sailed across the room... it was followed in rapid succession by a green artist pencil, a sketch book and finally a data padd. The effort was only mildly satisfying, a moment ruined by the fact that the padd failed to break when it hit the bulkhead.

"Pointless," Beverly Crusher muttered as she raked a hand through her already tangled auburn hair and paced the length of her living area. She knew there was no way she was going to get the infernal play produced in the foreseeable future, so why was she wasting her time like this?

Because she didn't have anything else to do with her time but waste it.

The incident in the Briar Patch had disturbed everyone, given the less than above board behavior of Starfleet and the Federation Council. The confrontation they were headed for back on Earth promised to be quite dramatic -- and painful.

In the mean time, everyone had something -- or someone -- to do but her.

Data and Geordi were overseeing the repairs to the damage done during the battle with the Son'a. Worf was taking advantage of the opportunity to once again be on a starship. He had been temporarily assigned to the Enterprise until after the hearing on Earth and was filling in the odd shift at Security for injured crewmembers who had not yet returned to duty. Will and Deanna had moved into joint quarters and were only seen outside those rooms during their respective shifts.

As for Jean-Luc... he was mooning over Anij to the extent that Beverly had not even seen him for breakfast in the week since they left Ba'ku.

All that -- added to the fact that injuries had been amazingly few -- was why she was wasting her time attempting to create costumes for a play that would never be seen.

"Why am I bothering to try to decide between silk and damask?" she said, speaking aloud to fill the room with something other than silence. "No one is going to be interested in this ridiculous trifle... and they're right not to be interested."

Her Nana had told stories of many ages and many lands, and while Beverly had been enthralled by the ones about the clans of the Scottish highlands, her favorites had been of kings and queens, knights and ladies, of romance and derring-do.

All the wonderful things she was certain she had failed miserably to convey in her own attempt at a tale of medieval flirtation. While she had no delusions of being a 24th century Shakespeare, she had hoped to be entertaining at the very least.

"Data's 'Ode to Spot' has more plot twists than the drivel I've written," she sulked. Even if she had succeeded, now was not the time for fluff, no matter how picturesque and distracting.

Professionally, Beverly was well aware that her uncharacteristic restlessness was a result of the Ba'ku radiation. Personally, living through another reckless 'youth' did not appeal to her in the least. She had barely survived the first one.

An elongated groan of frustration burst from her as, exasperated with herself and the whole situation, she charged across the beige carpet into her bedroom. Flinging open the closet doors, she scrabbled among the shoes on the floor, occasionally tossing one over her shoulder in her search for the proper pair. She found them, and then did the same ransacking rummage through her dance wear. Latching onto a black leotard and tights to suit her mood, she stomped out the door, heading for a holodeck to dance herself into exhaustion.

The sensors noted her departure and gradually dimmed the lights until the only illumination came from the streaking stars.

Slowly, the dismissed wad of paper floated up from its resting place under the farthest viewport. Crackling eerily in the pallid glow, it uncrumpled itself until the sketch of the medieval dress was revealed. The data padd rose next, words scrolling across the screen almost too fast to be read.

A laugh so low that it melded with the hum of the engines, echoed through the empty rooms as Q materialized in the doctor's quarters, his conniving smile putting a Cheshire cat to shame.

*****

The next morning, Jean-Luc Picard watched the viewscreen disinterestedly, his mind on the planet they were leaving further and further behind them.

Dr. Crusher had been unable to estimate the long term influence of the Ba'ku radiation on the crew, given their relatively brief exposure, but so far as he could tell, the physical effects had not begun to fade. The youthful vigor was still with him.

Emotionally and mentally, however, he was wrung out.

He felt betrayed by the organization to which he had dedicated his life. The Prime Directive was the core of Starfleet philosophy, and that precept had been tossed aside in selfish hopes of discovering some form of immortality. The fact that they were willing to destroy an entire civilization to do so was more repugnant to him than the revenge that drove the Son'a.

Picard understood a small part of the Son'a's motivation. He could easily empathize with their generation's desire to reach beyond the world they had known from childhood. Labarre was home and always would be, but the stars had been in his blood from birth and no amount of pressure from his father and brother would dissuade him from the path he had been compelled to take. The explorer was stronger than the vintner, and yet the patience needed to make fine wine had stood him in good stead over the years.

Ba'ku was the sort of world his brother, Robert, would have enjoyed. He would have delighted in making a wine one year and being able to divine all its aged complexities one hundred years later.

Picard had known in the midst of his discussion with Anij about the artists' apprentices that he did not have the temperament to spend forty or fifty years learning anything before being allowed to do it. He had infinite patience for performing many of the more mundane tasks involved in his archeological studies, but that was because he was actually doing it.

The euphoria of rejuvenation and the exhilaration of defending an entire civilization had made him believe he was in love with Anij. He had been enthralled by her smile at his mention of having 318 days of leave available.

Time -- was it only a week? -- and distance had made him see the truth.

Her smile had not been one of encouragement or enthusiasm. She had been amused by his childlike pleasure at the prospect of using what he considered to be a large chunk of leave time. What were a few hundred days to someone who had lived over 300 years? While she might genuinely care for him, she saw him as a child, an adolescent compared to herself.

No, he would not be returning to Ba'ku -- and not just because of his realization about Anij.

Being able to slow time to enjoy a single moment had its advantages, but it could not silence the call of his beloved stars. Not even when he knew the stars were not enough.

He was reminded every morning as he ate a solitary breakfast that there was a gaping hole in his life, and Anij was not what he wanted to fill that void. What -- no, who -- he needed was...

"Crusher to bridge."

The CMO's voice cut through the silence, startling everyone on the bridge who was involved in the mundane tasks necessary to run a starship.

Picard had been absorbed in his thoughts and felt a trifle guilty at being 'caught' by the very person he had been contemplating. As a result, his response came out more sharply than necessary.

"Go ahead, Doctor."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Captain, but... um... have you seen Q up there?"

An audible groan sounded from every station, a groan that was quickly quelled under Picard's stern look.

"Can I hope that your question is more than a rhetorical one?" he inquired warily.

A brilliant flash of light was the very answer he had dreaded.

Dressed in the uniform of a Starfleet admiral as was his habit, the entity crossed his arms as his shoulders slumped and his face took on a sullen pout. "Your Dr. Crusher is becoming quite presumptuous. I don't know why you continue to tolerate her, mon Capitaine."

Slightly apprehensive at the sheer scope of possible forms for Q's displeasure to take, the captain said urgently, "Picard to Crusher."

Anger turned to concern when there was no response.

"What have you done with her, Q?"

"She's safe, Jean-Luc, but I don't like having my surprises spoiled. I've come for a nice, friendly visit, and I prefer to make my entrances in my own way."

"Then why give Dr. Crusher advance notice if you didn't want her to alert us?" Troi asked with the slightest touch of sarcasm.

Rolling a condescending glance in her direction, Q ignored the question.

"I was at loose ends, so I decided to come enliven your dreary lives."

"We don't need 'enlivening', Q," Riker snapped.

"Individually and as a group, you are in more desperate need of enlivening than I have ever seen. Consider it my gift to you."

That said, Q vanished, followed in quick succession by Picard, Riker, Troi, Data and Worf.

*****

The officers found themselves in the courtyard of a massive stone castle. Geordi La Forge had joined them, but Q was nowhere to be seen.

Their uniforms had been replaced to fit the setting.

Deanna was clothed in a floor-length garnet silk gown. Its low, square cut neckline set off the matching jeweled necklace and earrings, and the end of the dress's three-foot train was held up by loop around her right wrist.

The men were clad in a rainbow of brocaded silk and velvet doublets over white shirts with billowing sleeves. Dark, full-legged leather trousers were tucked into their knee-high leather boots. Each wore a plumed hat -- with the exception of Picard who had a circlet of gold on his head.

"A period piece," Picard noted dryly. "How original."

~tbc~


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

"Robin Hood again perhaps?" Riker asked as he examined the gold braiding on the dark blue cape slung over his shoulder. "I know how much Mr. Worf enjoyed being a 'merry man'." He earned a scowl from the Klingon for his small joke.

"No, Number One. Our clothing suggests a much later period, but I can't quite pinpoint it." Suppressing an irritated sigh, he added, "I suppose we have no choice but to play along until we find out what Q is up to."

Data cocked his head as he concentrated. "The clothing is Earth, late 17th century, and of Middle European style, however, the detailing covers many decades in combinations not usually found together. The clothes themselves indicate that we have been cast, so to speak, as persons of noble if not royal birth." His head tilted again as he performed another search. "However, I do not find this particular castle in the Federation history banks."

Before any more questions could be raised, a man stepped out of a doorway. His plainer clothing identified him as a lesser noble.

"King Jean-Luc, why tarry you here?" Seeing the others, he hurried over. "Ah, more guests I see. Greetings Lord William," he said with a bow. Turning, he took Deanna's hand and kissed it. "My dear Countess, lovely as ever. And Sirs Data, Worf and Geordi. I bid you all welcome. You have traveled far and must be hungry. Come, join the festivities."

The man returned to the castle, but the group did not follow him.

"Any further observations? Opinions?" Picard prompted.

"The man referred to us by our own names," Data said. "Perhaps Q's use of this setting is merely to suggest a sense of time and place."

Picard nodded in agreement. That vagueness would give Q quite a bit of leeway in this scenario.

His thoughts were interrupted when Worf spoke up.

"Captain, the five of us were removed from the bridge; Commander La Forge from Engineering..."

"Your point, Mr. Worf?"

"Dr. Crusher is not here."

It was a noteworthy point. She had been given enough advance notice of the entity's arrival to alert the bridge but had not been included in the 'transfer'. The others exchanged inquiring looks as they tried to puzzle out Q's intended game.

"Maybe she doesn't get to play," Riker theorized, smoothing his beard, "because she tried to spoil the surprise."

"Do you really think she could be that lucky?" Geordi asked.

"I shall be exceedingly jealous if she is," Picard replied.

All but one head turned as Deanna muttered, "You're not the only one."

Will had been watching as she attempted to master a skirt that was far more unwieldy than the second skin uniform she was used to. "You look like you could use some help," he said, gallantly offering his arm.

"Careful, Lord William," she replied with exaggerated sweetness, "or I'll ask Q to put you in one of these things."

King or captain, their leader had the power to stop the playful banter with a raised hand. "There's no use standing around here. Let's see if we can determine what Q has planned for us."

Crossing the courtyard, they entered the castle, following the sounds and scurrying servants into the great hall. Along the high walls, wide navy blue banners emblazoned with grapevines and stars alternated with brilliant scarlet ones bearing sprigs of heather and a variety of herbs. Knights and ladies were seated at several long tables running the length of the room. There was a ripple effect as the gathering rose and bowed, acknowledging the arrival of the royal party.

Though disconcerted by the display, Picard schooled his features into what he hoped was a kingly countenance and nodded to various people as he moved among them.

"Captain," Deanna whispered. She gestured toward the far end of the room. Another table sat perpendicular to the others, running the width of the room. Clearly the main dais, there was seating only on one side with several empty places. At the middle of the table were two large chairs, also empty. A woman stood before the table giving orders to attentive servants.

Despite having her back to them, she was unmistakable. A circlet of gold similar to Picard's crowned auburn hair which flowed down her back in a mass of curls. The bodice of a deep forest green damask dress clung to the woman's torso, accenting the narrow waist until it flared over the hips, falling in generous folds to the train that was expertly kicked out of the way when she turned. A scalloped neckline framed the emeralds nestled against her fair skin. Catching sight of the approaching newcomers, she eyed each one of them up and down and laughter shook her slender frame as she tried in vain to prevent her elegant features from revealing her obvious mirth.

"Good morrow, my liege," Beverly said, dropping a deep curtsey.

Troi nudged Riker when she saw him staring at the doctor's cleavage which -- generous in its own right -- was enhanced by the tight bodice of her gown. The first officer nudged her back, directing her attention to Picard... whose eyes were focused in exactly the same place.

Unaware of the brief by-play, Beverly rose and gestured to a nearby servant. "Make haste, Henri. Fetch food and drink for the king and his most honored guests."

With a pleased smile at being chosen, the boy bobbed his head and darted away.

"Beverly?" Picard asked, uncertain whether she was herself or a facsimile set up by Q.

"Aye, my lord," she said, a soft burr tinting her speech, "and if you had seen me standing in Sickbay is this outfit, you would have understood why I was asking about Q."

"You seem to be taking this all in stride," he noted, not quite convinced she was really Beverly.

Her blue eyes sparkled as she took his arm and led the small group around the table. "I'm just getting into the spirit of things. It's really only improvisational theater taken to an extreme, and I thought that for once it might be easier to go along with Q than automatically fighting him. Let's sit down and eat. I'm tired of dragging this skirt around."

Perhaps she would tell Picard and the others later that, although she had no idea how or why Q had done it, many of the details seemed to be based on the play she had tossed aside with such disgust last night. Even the dress she was wearing was taken from the design she had discarded. She had not set her story in France, but Q appeared to be changing a few of the plot points to conform to his 'casting'. That was fine by Beverly for she was enjoying herself immensely.

Although she was certain Q had a few surprises planned, she had given him only a romantic comedy for his framework so she felt confident that she could handle any plot twists he might create.

Directing Picard to one of the large chairs, she put Riker to the captain's right, with Troi and Worf in the successive seats. Taking the other large chair on Picard's left, Beverly seated herself indicating that Data and Geordi should sit beside her.

"Others appear to believe the captain is king. May we assume, Doctor, from your position at the table that you have been cast as the queen in Q's play?" Data inquired.

She felt Picard tense as he heard the soft chuckles the question elicited from Will, Deanna and Geordi. "Yes, Data," she replied, not looking at the Captain. "I was in the middle of a staff meeting in Sickbay when my uniform suddenly turned into this... and it's about time you all showed up."

Riker grinned as he said, "I thought you were having fun. 'Getting into the spirit of things' or so you claimed."

"I am, but it's nice to have some familiar faces around. It was a bit of a shock to be talking to the bridge on the comm system from Sickbay one second and standing in the middle of this controlled chaos the next -- and being called Queen Beverly no less."

"How long have you... 'been' here?" Picard asked, joining the conversation for the first time. He was well aware that while it might have seemed that they were removed from the Enterprise within seconds of the doctor, Q time was not standard time.

"It feels like about three hours. From what I can make out, this is some sort of approximation of France -- although language doesn't seem to be a problem -- and you are the king. Knowing he would be embarrassed by the implications, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and grinned as she added, "I am the wild Scottish woman you fell in love with and couldn't live without so you kidnapped me." As this was not part of her play, she wondered briefly about Q's motives in casting herself and the Captain as married. Her puzzlement, however, wasn't going to keep her from getting in a bit of teasing.

Instead of being hurt by the grimace she received for her tale, she clucked sympathetically at his discomfort. "Well, that is a rather 'romantic' version of the tale. According to Morag, I was granted time to pack a few meager belongings before you whisked me away."

"Morag?" he asked, picking on the most innocuous point in her recitation. "That's not a French name."

"No, it's a decidedly Scottish name." She pointed to an ample, no-nonsense looking woman on the far side of the room. "That's her, and yes she's as tough as she looks. Morag is apparently one of the score of servants you allowed me to bring along."

"A score? You don't pack light, do you?" he mocked, allowing himself a small smile. He didn't fall into fantasy as easily as she had, but her 'performance' was infectious.

"Be nice," she scolded, surreptitiously pinching his arm. "Morag's family has served the Howard clan for generations, and she goes where I go -- quite insistently you'll find."

"The Howard clan?"

"Yes, it seems Q opted for several small threads of realism." She paused as the boy, Henri, set heaping plates of food on the table in front of them. "Anyway, Morag raised me, and her daughter will help raise our children."

"Children?" he choked on the wine he had just sipped, shocked by her cavalier attitude. Seeing that his crew had their attention deliberately focused on the food before them -- with the exception of Data, who was following their conversation with his usual undisguised interest -- Picard forced himself to clarify, "Do we... do we have... um... any?"

"We've only been married a few months." She let him enjoy his sense of relief for a moment then lowered her voice to add, "Although most people were quite disappointed that you didn't get me pregnant on our wedding night."

Watching the tips of his ears turn red she went on. "While they believe we are a love match, they are equally convinced that I use some sort of magic to remain childless as a way of keeping you to myself."

With a sidelong glance at Riker -- who pretended to be deep in conversation with Deanna, Picard leaned toward Beverly and murmured, "Is that really how they see us?"

"Tis indeed, my husband. By all accounts, I have bewitched you and lead you a merry chase.

"That I can believe," he replied, recalling the way she always challenged him aboard the Enterprise. He didn't let himself think about the fact that she had just called him 'husband'. "I'm sure, however, that I take it all with royal dignity."

"Of course you do, sire. Your bellows of rage when I disobey you are contradicted by the way you dote on me. We appear to be sublimely happy, and your subjects would follow wherever you lead." Thinking back to recent events on Ba'ku, she leaned over to murmur conspiratorially, "They sound remarkably like your crew."

Picard returned her smile as he said, "Right, and your medical staff wouldn't follow you into the depths of hell. At least they were lucky enough not to follow you here."

"Relax, Jean-Luc, it isn't that bad."

"That's odd, coming from someone who usually resists Q with all she's got."

"You forget, sire, I've been here longer," she said blithely. _'Being a 'co-author' of the tale helps immensely!'_ "I was greatly displeased upon arrival, but talking to these people... well, I wasn't in the mood for a fight so I decided to play along. Any idea why we're here?"

Her complacency bothered him. It was out of character for her not to be irritated by Q's actions. "I was rather hoping you had one. I don't like the idea of pretending to be a king. It could create untold complications."

Beverly rolled her eyes at the ego that would let him believe he was important enough to disrupt the universe. "There is no time line to alter. Q created all of this, and it will all disappear once he tires of the game, or we solve his puzzle, or whatever it is he thinks he wants from us."

Before she could go on, everyone's attention was caught by a jingling sound that seemed to be coming closer.

Mouths dropped open as Q appeared dressed as a court jester. Wordlessly, the Enterprise crew took in the curled toed shoes and the tights that gave him one gold leg and one green leg. The two colors were reversed on the lower half of his tunic and reversed again on the top half and once more on the sleeves.

Resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand, Beverly broke the silence. "Nice tights," she drawled.

Picard frowned at her frivolity -- and her praise. La Forge snickered before breaking into full laughter. He was quickly joined by Riker and Troi.

Q, confused by his failure to provoke a more irate response, attempted to regain control of the situation. "Why, Red," he preened, "were you looking at my legs?"

Before she could form a reply, Riker stood quickly, knocking over his heavy chair with a thunk as he did so.

Q took an involuntary step backwards, unprepared for the action. He refused to acknowledge the fact that the tall, bearded man was an intimidating presence despite the table dividing them.

"Guard your tongue, knave," Riker ordered in tones that rang off the thick stone walls. "She is queen of this realm and due your respect."

"Queen..." Q sneered only to be cut off.

"Aye, queen. 'Twas you who cast her thus and so you shall treat her."

Pleased that someone else had joined the 'play', the lady in question leaned around Picard to look down the table. "Thank you for defending my honor so gallantly, Lord William," Beverly said regally.

"'Tis an honor worth defending, my queen," he replied with a sweeping bow before taking his seat once again.

The 'queen' turned her attention once again to the befuddled being before them. "You have the pomposity necessary for the admiral's uniform you usually wear, Q, but this costume suits you equally well... for a great many reasons." Privately she wondered if he was aware that 'fool' was another name for the role he had chosen to play. "How shall you amuse us, jester?"

Her question bewildered him. His presence had never amused any of them before. "Amuse you?"

"Yes, jester, you've said before that you wished to enliven our dreary lives," Will pointed out, delighting in the opportunity to use Q's own words against him. "Shall you sing? Tell a clever story? Dance a jig?"

Q was appalled. "I'll do no such thing..."

"Not even if your king commands it?"

The Enterprise officers were startled to hear their captain join in the teasing.

Picard sat back in his chair, resting a finger across his lips in a half-hearted attempt to conceal his smile. He had surprised himself by taking up the task of taunting Q. It was quite a change for them to watch him squirm.

The look in Q's eyes was almost pleading. "Jean-Luc..."

This time, Worf, Data and La Forge rose to their feet along with Riker. Many of the knights at the nearest tables also rose at the effrontery of a jester calling the king by name.

"Careful, Q," Picard cautioned as he nodded his appreciation of the display, "loyalty is not something to be taken lightly... and you have precious little of it in this room. Now, you may entertain us --as you claim is your wont -- or be gone. The choice is yours."

The entity sputtered for a moment then vanished.

"You were right, Beverly. It is easier to go along." The corners of his mouth curled slightly. "It also confounds Q," he pointed out, the smile growing. "Given the right target, I'm rather beginning to see why he enjoys it so much."

"This is almost getting to be fun," Riker said rubbing his hands together. "Of course, the wardrobe helps quite a bit."

Laughing at his undisguised delight, the others relaxed a bit more into the fantasy Q had created.

~tbc~


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Once the meal was over, everyone felt the need to move around to keep from falling asleep.

As at any large event, the Enterprise group ebbed and flowed through out the gathering, coming together occasionally to compare notes on what they had observed before drifting away again.

The knights and ladies were coolly deferential in the beginning, but they quickly relaxed in response to the king's reserved warmth and the queen's more convivial attitude.

As the Starfleet officers regrouped in front of the huge open fireplace at the far end of the great hall, some questions were still unanswered.

"Any idea why you and good King Jean-Luc are hosting this little get-together?" Will asked.

Beverly smiled at his description. "Yes, tonight's feast is a prelude to tomorrow's activities. It's a festival of some kind... a pas... past arms..." The banquet was in her play, but Q had changed the reason for it so the term was unfamiliar to her.

"Pas d'armes," Picard supplied. "Interesting... Q doesn't seem to be concerned with any kind of coherent history. Our clothing is 17th century, but pas d'armes didn't last to the end of the 15th century. And from what I've heard in the conversations around us, he's not bothering to keep to the traditional event."

"Captain, what is a pas d'armes?" Geordi asked. He knew Data would be able to tell him, but he wanted the concise definition.

"It was the less deadly form of a tournament. Rather than trying to kill a foe, the purpose was to display a knight's skills, a testing of one's mettle against an honorable opponent. The joust was always the sole event, but apparently Q has added a few others." Turning, he cast an appraising eye on the tall Klingon who had remained silent throughout the conversation. "Think you could handle a broadsword as well as you handle a bat'telh, Mr. Worf?"

Disdaining the teasing tone so often used by humans, Worf stood tall. "I would have to observe a few matches before making an attempt, but I am certain I will represent the Enterprise with honor."

Picard shook his head, opening his mouth but closing it again without speaking. He hadn't intended to issue a challenge, but now there would be no way of dissuading him from taking part. The Captain silently noted that the Klingon had cast his loyalty to the Enterprise -- not Starfleet or the Federation. Not wishing to dwell on the dark implications that he understood all too well, he decided to try another subject.

"Beverly, in your... research... have you identified the woman at the end of the third table?" The woman had been staring at him with such intensity that he was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

It didn't surprise her that he had noticed the person in question, but inexplicably Beverly found herself miffed that he felt the need to ask about her. _'There are plenty of men looking in this direction, why doesn't he ask about them?'_ she fumed inwardly.

"You mean the brunette who can't take her eyes off of you... and looks as though she would like to get her hands on you as well?"

Picard arched an eyebrow in silent question at her tone. _'Was that jealousy? From Beverly?'_ The possibility confused him. Perhaps she had gotten too far into this scenario of Q's. Neutrally, he replied, "Yes, the brunette -- although I don't know about the accuracy of the rest of the description."

The frission of tension between the Captain and CMO -- or rather the king and queen -- was almost palpable. La Forge directed a discreet exit for himself, Data and Worf while Riker and Troi stayed to watch with undisguised interest.

Beverly knew exactly how she had sounded but somehow couldn't keep it from happening again. "That is the Lady Margot de Benoit. You had an affair with her which apparently led her to believe that she was about to become queen herself. She didn't take kindly to the fact that you didn't choose her. Bringing home a foreign bride seems to have rubbed salt in the wound."

"Now that's detailed research!" Will marveled.

Grateful for anything that would allow her to sound more aloof and less like a possessive shrew, Beverly dropped back into character. "Mock me not, Lord William. The Enterprise's grapevine is a pitiful, withered thing compared to the gossip available here. One scarcely needs to ask, so eager are some to tell their tales."

The ensuing laughter was disrupted by sotto voce swearing as Deanna tripped once again on the long skirt of her gown. Will steadied her while she untangled the heel of her shoe from the hem.

Taking pity on the dark-haired woman, Beverly turned to Picard saying, "My lord husband, be a gracious host and show our honored guest around the castle while I help the Countess... er... train her train."

Picard chuckled, a bit surprised to find that he enjoyed the lovely redhead's playful bossiness. "I don't know what or where anything is around here, but I know when I'm being dismissed," he said with a small bow in his 'wife's' direction. "Come on, Will, let's see where Data, Geordi and Worf have gone. Perhaps we can uncover some clue as to what Q has planned for us."

"Thank you," Deanna said as the men walked away.

Beverly gave her a small curtsey. "Well, I certainly don't want you falling on your face, and Will can't be holding you up all the time; people would talk."

"Not about the dress. Thank you for sending them away so my captain won't hear me tell a fellow senior officer how much I hate her."

Beverly wasn't the empath of the two, but she could tell that the other woman wasn't serious. It was the same tone of voice Deanna employed when trying to bluff with a low pair during the weekly poker game -- a 'tell' that the doctor always used to her own advantage.

"So you hate me, hmm? Here, give me that," she said, taking the train's support loop off Deanna's wrist. Shaking out the skirt as she crossed behind her, Beverly slid the loop over the countess/counselor's left wrist. "Q knows nothing about proper dressing. Who could possibly think that the dominant hand should control the skirt? I've found that putting it on the less active hand helps keep it out of the way. When you want to move in that direction, pivot a half turn on your left foot, then put your weight on your right foot so that you can use a short, sweeping motion of the left foot to kick the base of the train out of the way. Try it."

The first attempt was more successful than her pupil had thought it would be.

"Good," Beverly encouraged. "Don't drop your hand to your side; let it rest at your waist, that way there's less skirt on the ground."

With key advice at every turn, it took only a few passes before Deanna began to feel comfortable with the maneuvering of the heavy silk gown. "Yes, I hate you," she said, picking up the prior conversation as though there had been no interruption, "because you do this sort of thing so easily."

Beverly frowned in confusion as she made another adjustment in the lay of the garnet colored material. "What 'sort of thing'?"

"Accept getting zapped from Sickbay to a medieval castle as though you had taken a turbolift to Ten Forward... handle a dress that weighs almost as much as you do... take on the role of queen, and even make the captain go along with playing a king."

With a sniff, Beverly dismissed the cataloging of her alleged accomplishments. "Oh, that. It's pretty much like one of my infamous late production dress rehearsals. Everybody's in costume, most people know their lines, but there are always a few who try to make it up as they go along. Fortunately or unfortunately, we are the ones making it up. Now, try it again." She studiously avoided mentioning that it was easier for her to go along because Q had appropriated her play.

Executing a perfect four step walk and turn, Deanna beamed at her own success before her brow creased again. "But that's what I mean! As bizarre as this situation is, you've actually had practice at it!"

Beverly's musical laughter turned the heads of those in hearing range. "See what you get for continually refusing me when I ask you to take a role? Come on, let's check you out on this new piece of 'equipment'."

They had gone nearly three quarters of the way around the room when Beverly chided, "Relax, Deanna, it's time we had a bit of fun, and we're as safe now as if we were in a holodeck simulation. Think about it -- as irritating as he can be, has Q ever done anything to cause deliberate or lasting harm to us?"

"You mean besides letting the Borg know that we existed years before they would have discovered us?"

"Oh,..." Beverly replied softly, paling a shade or two. "I wasn't posted to the Enterprise that year. I tend to forget some of those details."

Silence hung over the two women as they recalled their encounters with the Collective.

Giving herself a shake, Beverly put on a smile. "Maybe Q regrets that. I think Data was right when he said that Q likes the captain -- in an odd sort of way. Besides, we've been here for hours now and nothing's happened. It seems like Q is just testing our patience this time around." For some reason, the totally unsupported idea put her at ease. "After all, this is easier than one of our standard diplomatic missions. These people all accept us for what they think we are, and we can ask any questions we like without fear of raising suspicions or upsetting any tenuous negotiations." Patting her friend's shoulder, she added some extra advice. "Make up a history for your character... play with it, have fun!"

"I wouldn't even know where to start!" Deanna pouted.

"You've done plenty of role-playing in therapy, counselor, why are you making this so difficult?"

It was times like this that Deanna was acutely aware of her height. When forced to look up, indignant tended to appear more as petulant -- which was not the image she wished to project. "Beverly," she said with strained patience, "I guide other people through exercises in which they take on the roles of the person closest to them. We don't make things up out of whole cloth!"

"It doesn't have to be 'whole cloth'!" Beverly exclaimed. "Use your own history! Tell them you are Deanna, Countess of Betazed. If someone says they've never heard of it, just look at them with that indulgent expression you use on Data. Tell them about being a daughter of the Fifth House, tell them about the Sacred Chalice and the Holy Rings." Her eyes sparkled at a new idea. "Hell, Deanna, if you feel more comfortable role-playing as a person close to you... be your mother!"

The counselor gave an offended sigh. "That is not the least bit funny!"

"Be honest. Don't you occasionally envy your mother's ability to leave such stalwart men as Jean-Luc and Will and Worf shaking in their boots?"

"You seem to forget, Beverly, that my mother is a full telepath. It's easy to intimidate people when you know exactly what they're thinking."

"And you've never bothered to realize that Lwaxana rarely uses her telepathic abilities around us. Her own self-confidence carries her through most situations." Beverly looked rather wistful as she added, "You should get to know your mother better."

Sensing the sadness that had come over the doctor, Deanna asked, "What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking." She paused briefly before deciding that she wanted to finish the answer. "I have no way of knowing what kind of relationship I might have had with my mother at this point in my life... but even if she made me crazy the way you get with Lwaxana, I'd rather have her here. Take advantage of what you have, my friend," she finished softly.

Sound advice, but Deanna was unprepared for the overpowering loneliness that accompanied it. It was bewildering until the counselor guiltily realized that she hadn't spent much time with Beverly lately. She couldn't remember the last time they had gotten together for lunch or just to talk. Their exercise sessions had fallen to the wayside during the Ba'ku incident, and then she had started a new morning 'workout' with Will. While Beverly had many friends, there were only a few truly close ones, and Deanna was supposed to be one of them.

_'Her relationship with the Captain has changed, too, given the way he feels about Anij -- whatever that is.'_ She belatedly recalled the conflicted emotions she had sensed in Picard as Ba'ku was left behind.

Beverly was well aware of the emotional overflow she had let loose on the empath. In recent days, she had been... well, it was more like wading rather than wallowing in self pity. Her son was the only family she had left, and where Wesley was she couldn't even begin to imagine. Her friends had drifted away in the directions their own lives had taken them, although she hadn't done much to close the distance. She was alone, and it was her own fault.

Now, however was neither the time nor the place to discuss it -- not if she wanted to retain her dignity.

"Would it please your majesty to know," Deanna asked, deftly changing the unspoken subject, "that Lady Margot has at last taken her eyes off the king... and turned them on you?"

Beverly smiled gratefully. _'Sometimes it's not so bad having an empath for a friend.'_ She had felt a cold stare boring into her for several minutes and wasn't surprised to learn to whom that stare belonged. "Do you suppose Q has a bit of court intrigue planned? You know, a rejected-lover-attempts-revenge sort of thing?"

"Hmm," Deanna conceded, "that might explain one piece of very interesting 'casting'."

"How so?"

"Well... I mean... is it just me or does Lady Margot look like an evil Vash?"

Beverly snorted with less than queenly grace. "I thought Vash was the 'evil Vash'." The jealous tone was back, and she kept talking in hopes of heading off whatever comments Deanna might make. "Court intrigue is fine. Remember, if she comes after me, I have Starfleet self-defense training and Klingon training that she doesn't. I can take care of myself."

"I thought intrigue meant things were done covertly? What if she doesn't confront you face to face?"

"The I'm definitely safe. Morag wouldn't let her get near enough to any food or wine to poison it. We'll probably be lucky if Morag doesn't poison Lady Margot's food!"

As they continued to circle the room, Deanna's observation buzzed in Beverly's head. _'Why Q did choose someone who resembled Vash to play Lady Margot rather than an Anij look-a-like? After all, Anij is the latest love of Jean-Luc's life. Seems like an odd detail for Q to overlook,'_ she mused. _'Then again, Q always claims to be omnipotent not omniscient. Maybe he doesn't know about Anij.'_

The theory had scarcely entered her mind before she raced on to another option. _'If he were to find out about Anij, maybe he would whisk her away like he did Vash, get her out of the way.'_

She was immediately ashamed of herself for such a thought. _'Just why do I want Jean-Luc 'saved'? There's nothing wrong with Anij... nothing that a little personality transplant wouldn't fix.'_ She winced again at her lack of charity. _'I have no right to be jealous. Of my own free will I've passed up more than one chance to be with Jean-Luc.'_

Beverly was grateful when she and Deanna were drawn into a conversation with a group they were passing.

~tbc~


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

The pleasure Beverly had originally taken in seeing her play come to life -- in a scope she could never have accomplished on a stage -- gradually gave way to discomfort as the hours wore on. Her feet hurt in the unfamiliar shoes while the weight of her dress was making her shoulders, arms and back ache.

Looking around for someone to commiserate with, Beverly spied a likely ally sitting in a chair off to the side, head propped on a slim hand.

"Tired?"

"Tired of dragging this ridiculous dress around," Deanna replied, flipping her dark hair back over her shoulder.

"How to drive a Betazoid crazy," Beverly snickered, trying her best not to laugh out loud.

"What?"

"Take a person from a culture with no taboos on nudity, one where most of their important events are done in the nude and put them in a time when they have to wear multiple layers of heavy cloth for sixteen hours a day. It could probably be classified as torture on some worlds."

Deanna groaned at the words 'sixteen hours'. "How long do you think Q is going to keep us here?"

"What does time mean to Q? He could keep us here for weeks then drop us back on the Enterprise right where we were, and no one would even know we had been gone."

Deanna scowled, slumping lower in the chair. "You are not helping."

"Sorry," the doctor replied contritely. Guilt nudged her, but she pushed it away, promising herself that she would tell them -- eventually -- about Q using her play. Trying once again to relieve the tension in her shoulders gave her another idea. "How about a nice, hot bath? I'm not sure how often they did it, but people in these times did bathe on occasion. I'm sure Morag can fix us up with something."

Beverly almost laughed again at the grateful smile she received. Pulling the counselor to her feet, she steadied her when the dress threatened to overbalance the petite woman once more.

On the way out, they stopped where Picard was 'holding court'. "The hour grows late, your majesty," Beverly said, dropping a small curtsey which Deanna copied. "The countess and I, having more common sense, are retiring for the evening. I shall dispatch servants shortly to show our guests to their rooms."

Bowing low, Picard kissed her hand before saying, "An excellent hostess as always, my lady. With good wine and good conversation to occupy us, we shan't wander far afield and gladly await your bidding."

"There is a saying, sire," she replied with a hint of her well known wicked angel smile, "be careful what you wish for..."

The vague warning hung on the air as the ladies made their exit.

*****

Morag ran a well organized household and had already issued instructions to heat huge amounts of water. A young French woman named Belle, with black hair and mischievous green eyes, gladly took charge of Deanna and the two departed, deep in a discussion on the relative merits of lilac versus lavender bath oil.

Beverly was informed that a bath had been ordered for her as well and was led a short distance down the hall. Entering the room with Morag, she saw that the blue-gray stone walls were softened by large, intricate tapestries. Some depicted French countryside, others, the Scottish highlands. Flickering candlelight created a cozy center to the room while casting dancing shadows in the corners. A fire burned brightly in the enormous fireplace at the far end of the room and a large wooden tub had placed been a few meters away. Beverly closed her eyes as memories of her grandmother and Caldos filled her, carried on the scent that wafted from the steaming water.

"Heather," she murmured, unaware that she had spoken out loud.

"Aye, lass," Morag confirmed with a smile, "I know how ye likes a bit of home when the crowds are upon ye."

_'Home?'_ That was a confusing thought. Q's fantasy world had begun to feel almost normal and for a moment, Beverly wasn't sure where home was. Was it the Enterprise? Caldos? Ancient Scotland? Some fictitious version of France?

"What is it, lass?"

The question brought Beverly out of her reverie, and she covered her lapse in attention with a half-hearted laugh. "Just wool gathering. Thank you for the heather, Morag. You know me so well."

The older woman planted her fists on her hips. "And who would be knowing ye better -- except yer own mother, bless her soul?" she demanded. "Was I not the first to hold ye the moment ye were born? Have I not seen ye grow from a wild child into the woman who won the heart of a king?"

Morag sounded like her grandmother... not the accent but the straight-forward attitude that didn't mince words. It was comforting and distressing at the same time. How much did Q know about her life? Could it be merely a coincidence?

'Wild child,' Morag had called her. Well that certainly fit. How true then was the part about winning the heart of a king?

Beverly knew that Jean-Luc had loved her, although he claimed he didn't have those feelings any more. She was well aware that he lied about the change in his feelings toward her, but how realistic could a love be when it had gone unrequited for nearly thirty years? That was what had frightened her when he suggested exploring their feelings after Kesprytt. She knew about her own fantasies... what had he imagined for so many years?

It was a moot point. Kesprytt was far behind them, and Anij was in his life now.

With Morag's assistance, she pinned up her hair then quickly shed her clothes. She sank gratefully into the steaming tub, closing her eyes as she leaned back in the water.

"Soak or scrub?" Morag's voice broke into her warm cocoon.

Slitting one eye open, she saw the woman holding a washcloth in one hand and a bar of soap in the other.

"Soak for ten minutes," she answered in what she hoped was queenly decree.

Her wish was granted then the rest of the bath was quickly completed. Just before she got out of the tub, a large four panel screen of yellow silk embroidered with purple irises was set up near the hearth to capture the heat from the blazing fire. Morag guided her behind the screen where she was dried off, powdered and slipped into a sleeveless shift of soft ivory linen.

_'I would have designed a more elaborate nightgown,'_ Beverly thought, then decided that the pale jade green quilted satin robe that Morag was holding more than made up for the plain gown. The matching slippers were a nice touch as well. Beverly was then seated on a bench before the fire while Morag brushed her hair until it shone. It was a kind of pampering that she could definitely put up with on occasion.

As the screen was removed to once again allow heat to the rest of the room, she saw that the tub had been emptied. Servants were now refilling it with fresh water.

A single raised eyebrow asked the question, and she was delighted to receive the answer that the bath was now being prepared for the king.

The bathing scenes were not in her play, and she wondered briefly what Q was up to, then quickly decided to do a bit of directing on her own. Mulling over the possibilities, she didn't hear the door open again.

"M-majesty?"

Beverly jumped slightly at the unexpected voice near her elbow. Turning she saw one of the French servants. It took her a moment to come up with a name. "Sorry, Josette, am I in your way?"

The young woman looked appalled at the very idea that the queen could be in her way. "_Mais non_, madame. I... I... Does your majesty wish her bath potions?"

_'The poor thing sounds terrified. What sort of 'potions' could possibly frighten her so badly?'_ Her curiosity allowed for only one answer. "Yes, Josette, would you bring them please?"

A few minutes later a black leather case with silver latches and hinges and bearing the Howard clan crest was set on the bench she had recently vacated.

Josette's rush to leave again concerned Beverly. "Why is she so frightened?"

Morag sniffed dismissively. "They are a superstitious lot as ye well know. No matter how they love their new queen, some still call ye the Howard witch and think ye might turn them all into toads one dark night."

Glancing over the innocuous contents of the case, Beverly replied, "Since I seem to be fresh out of eye of newt, I suppose they are safe for another night."

"Eye of newt, indeed," Morag scoffed then bustled off to arrange for the king's nightclothes.

Beverly turned her attention back to the 'potions' case, making a mental catalog of its contents. It was an amazingly complete collection of extracts from most of the flowers, fruits and herbs indigenous to both Scotland and France.

_'What would Jean-Luc like? Nothing too floral,'_ she decided, although a mischievous inner voice was urging her to use a large portion of rose oil. Stifling the temptation, she concentrated on picking and choosing carefully to create a mixture she was sure he would approve.

Pouring yet another scent into the water, she laughed at Morag's raised eyebrow then explained, "I want my husband sweet-smelling before he comes to the marriage bed this night."

"Aye, lady, he'll be that."

Beverly was amazed at her own ease in using the terms 'husband' and 'marriage bed' in reference to Jean-Luc. Despite the fictional setting, she was enjoying herself. Playing married for a day had stirred some of her old fantasies and...

...gave her an idea. She turned to the girl pouring in the last bucket of hot water.

"Cait, go fetch the king for his bath... and tell Lord William not to laugh. The large bathing chamber is being readied for him and the other gentlemen... Oh, and Cait, bring King Jean-Luc back yourself, lass. I don't want him dawdling while the water cools."

"Aye, your majesty," the girl said, rushing out the door before any more instructions could be given.

Beverly smiled indulgently. "She looks as though I sent her into the lion's den."

"The king does have a mighty roar when provoked," Morag said, "yourself being the reason for a fair portion of those roars."

Dismissing the subtle critique, Beverly replied, "My worries will begin when he doesn't roar. He is as even tempered as any wife could wish and does not aggravate easily. I fear him not, for I can hold my own in the face of his rage and shouting is better than a fist. From the well-born to the lowest serf, too many women suffer at the hands of men who can find no other way to prove their manhood than through violence."

Morag's clucking agreement made Beverly realize just how lucky she was to be living in her own time. Jean-Luc would never raise a hand in anger unless he was attacked first or in defense of someone else. Women from this time believed it was their lot to be abused by men and...

Beverly shuddered at the grim picture she had created and turned her attention to the final details of her plan.

~tbc~


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Picard had put his diplomatic skills to good use in dealing with the roomful of strangers who considered him to be their king. He had frequently found that ambitious people were quite willing to carry on a one sided conversation -- so long as the ear they were bending belonged to someone of influence.

A lull in the conversation gave Will an opportunity to nudge the Captain and direct his attention to the far side of the room. Picard turned to see a girl hovering in the shadowed doorway. No more than twelve, her hands twisted anxiously in the dingy apron that covered her rough woolen dress. He beckoned her forward, and the men surrounding him parted to make a path for her.

Dropping a quick curtsey, she stammered, "B-beggin yer pardon, sire." Her accent was thicker than the one Beverly had adopted.

"Yes, child?"

"Queen Beverly bade me tell you that yer bath is almost ready and that ye should come before it grows cold."

Ignoring the snicker that came from Will, Picard acknowledged the message with a curt nod, but the girl didn't scurry away -- though she clearly wished she could.

"Is there something else?"

"Aye, sire. She... she bade me tell..." she hesitated, fearful of being the bearer of such an impudent message. Finally, she blurted out the words in a breathless tumult, "She bade me tell Lord William not to laugh because baths were being readied for him and the other gentlemen in the large bathing chamber."

Will's face flushed, and Picard enjoyed seeing the tables of embarrassment turned on his first officer by Beverly's accurate anticipation of events.

"Thank you...", he paused, lifting her chin so that she could see the small smile softening his features as he silently inquired as to her identity.

"Cait, sire," she supplied with another curtsey, "daughter of Morag."

"Thank you, Cait. Kindly tell your mistress we'll be along shortly."

She took half a step forward, torn between loyalty to her mistress and the fresh rush of fear that she might anger the king. "Oh, I canna, sire. Queen Beverly bade me not return without ye."

Picard's intended stern look melted quickly under the child's innocent gaze. Turning to the others, he groused in capitulation, "You'd think the woman was summoning us to Sickbay for physicals." His tankard was set on the table with a thump for emphasis.

"This would be our just deserts for telling her that we awaited her bidding," Geordi said with a laugh as more servants appeared in the doorway to direct their own charges to bath and bed.

Picard and Riker joined his laughter although not with as much enthusiasm.

Well aquatinted as the captain and first officer were with Q's games, it whispered at the backs of their minds that this was all going a bit too smoothly, but they were loathe to voice aloud the question of what might happen next.

*****

As Picard followed Cait through the chilly corridors, he could see her relax with every step. He supposed it was because they were moving well away from the group that she, for good reason, must consider to be intimidating men. Being alone with the king didn't seem to frighten her -- so long as he didn't speak to her.

Picard was not displeased with the arrangement. He had never been genuinely at ease with children although he had developed a comfortable relationship with Wesley Crusher.

_'That was most likely because he's Jack and Beverly's son... and a capable hand at conn... and...'_

...And his relationship with the boy vicariously filled a need in him that he steadfastly refused to acknowledge even now.

He allowed himself to be 'distracted' by his surroundings. The archeologist in him marveled at the suits of armor and weaponry that lined the walls. He had seen several recreations of such displays, but they seemed somehow more real in this fictionalized setting. Perhaps it was having himself placed, down to the clothes, into the heart of the era -- or rather Q's mishmash version of an era. It was vastly different from visiting 24th century museums.

His scholarly side began to vie for dominance as he took a closer look at the tapestries interspersed among the armaments. Four meters high by six meters wide, the vivid embroidery illustrated the various legends of Charlemagne, including a rather gruesome depiction of the disaster at Roncevalles and the death of Roland.

Intricately carved tables and tiered shelves held earthenware bowls, vases and tiles that carried other stories, but he could not identify them.

_'Perhaps they're Celtic tales. Q has done quite a job of combining details from my French background with those of Beverly's Scottish heritage.'_ He made a mental note to ask Beverly about it in the morning.

Picard was almost disappointed when Cait stopped beside one of the heavy oak doors that lined the corridor. Seeing trepidation return to her face, he patted the child's shoulder then teased her nose with the end of her braid. A giggle escaped before she could stop it.

"You make a fine escort, Cait, and do your mistress proud. She will be greatly pleased with you when I tell her so."

"Th... thank you, sire," she mumbled, blushing to the roots of her bright red hair.

He watched Cait scamper away, then braced himself as he pushed open the door. While he knew that it was a common practice in this era to have attendants assist with the bathing process, he was exceedingly relieved to find the room empty.

Testing the water and finding it a perfect temperature, he sniffed at the scent rising on the steam, approving it as woodsy and masculine. Picard removed his clothes and stepped into the wooden tub. He felt the water rise to just below his shoulders as he settled himself. Showers were his usual preference because they were quick and easy. With no reports waiting to be written or to be studied, he found himself anticipating the rare opportunity of a leisurely bath. Looking around for soap, he heard a noise behind him and stiffened.

"Be at ease, your majesty," an all too familiar voice purred. "Fear not that I would compromise your modesty by having strangers bathe you."

"Beverly..." He couldn't finish his sentence, much less turn to look at her.

He jumped as he felt a cloth covered hand stroke across his shoulders trailing creamy lather in its wake. She made quick work of his back, soaping and rinsing and moving on before he could form another coherent thought.

Her bare arms draped around his shoulders, one hand moving the wash cloth in soothing circles on his chest as the other hand cupped to bring up rinse water.

"Beverly," he tried again. That attempt was also thwarted as he felt her press into his back as she leaned forward. The slightly rough texture of whatever garment she wore did nothing to disguise the softness of her breasts underneath it.

"It's all right," she murmured in his ear. "They all think us married, and you can think of me as your physician if it makes you feel better."

It didn't, but it was all he had at the moment, as he tried to block a particularly vivid scene from his mind -- one in which their positions were reversed.

Beverly rose and moved to the opposite end of the tub where she looked into his face for the first time. His eyes, however, were focused not on her face but on the way her shift clung to her curves from the water it had absorbed when she had pressed against him.

Tearing his gaze away, his face, already flushed from the hot water, turned even redder as he realized that she knew exactly where his attention had been fixed.

"B-beverly..."

Her eyebrow arched as she worked more soap into the cloth. "Honestly, Jean-Luc," she chided, kneeling at the end of the tub, "if you can't get any farther than that, you'd better just let me do the talking."

Flustered by her gentle smile, he responded automatically as she motioned for him to lift his left leg.

"You may or may not know that bathing assistants were common at this time," she said conversationally, as she soaped his foot and calf. "Fortunately for you, it was also acceptable for wives to bathe their husbands as a way of keeping tabs on them." Anticipating his question of her knowledge, she went on, "Although I don't go scrabbling among ruins the way you do, I know quite a bit about ancient times, thanks to Nana."

Despite the struggle he was having not to react to the feeling of her hands on him, he recognized the merry twinkle in her eyes as an indication of something she was recalling.

"Wh-what?" The stutter was uncontrollable as she ran the cloth over his knee and as far up the inside of his thigh as she could reach.

She switched her ministrations to his other foot as she recounted the story of the bath potions, her conversation with Morag, and the lingering fear some people had of being turned into toads.

"Toads? Why would they think that?" He winced inwardly at the fact that, having finally found his voice, the one topic he felt safe with was toads.

"I told you that your 'subjects' all believe you are bewitched. Tales of my healing powers -- and my temper -- are apparently what lured you to Scotland to find me. The fact that you won me and brought me back still hasn't convinced them that even the great Picard can tame the Howard witch."

"Witch? So these people do know you!" With a laugh, he raised his hands to block the water she splashed at him. "What sort of bath potions does the Howard witch conjure with?"

She smiled at his continued teasing, noting that he seemed to have forgotten that he was sitting stark naked in a bathtub while his chief medical officer bathed him. Moving the cloth farther up his leg, she edged around to the right side of the tub so that she wouldn't have to stretch. That accomplished, she answered his question.

"Just natural extracts. Nothing terrifying -- unless you're living in a time when most foreigners are watched with suspicion... especially ones with red hair."

She shuddered delicately as she recalled the gruesome stories her grandmother had told of the ancient times. She knew that such ignorant prejudices weren't confined to those times or that world. Across the galaxy similar horrors were being committed even now.

Her dark thoughts had taken her attention from what she was doing, but that didn't keep her hands from moving. She heard his breath catch as she ran the washcloth across his thigh. Looking up, her eyes locked with his as she guided the cloth up, over his hip. When she slid it over his stomach, his hands captured hers.

Uncertain whether her actions were intended to be as tantalizing as they felt, Picard could stand no more.

"I..." He cleared his suddenly tight throat, but his voice was still husky as he said, "I can finish bathing myself."

"Aye, sire," she responded easily, slipping back into character, "As you wish. There's warm water to rinse with in the pitcher to your left. A towel is there also. Your night clothes and robe are by the fire."

Beverly rose, drying her hands and arms on a small towel before slipping into her robe. She barely concealed her reaction to the appreciation she saw in his eyes at the way the color set off her vibrant hair and porcelain skin.

On her way out, she turned. "Dress quickly and get to bed." She smiled, reading his look before he could ask the question. "Go left out this door. The bedroom is the second door on the right."

Once the door closed behind her, he did as he was told -- wishing all the while that he could be stepping into a cold shower.

*****

The castle was realistic in every way, complete with drafty corridors and cold stone under foot. After checking that the fire was properly banked, Jean-Luc made his way to the bed, stepping gingerly across the prickly straw that covered the floor. He draped his robe over the foot of the bed and was about to pull back the covers when he caught a flash of something in the flickering light of the candle he held.

"Beverly?"

"Hurry up, Jean-Luc," she said, holding the covers up under her chin, "you'll catch your death of cold out there, and Q didn't bother to send along any instruments for me to bring you back."

"What are you doing in my bed?" he ground out through teeth gritted more to keep them from chattering than from genuine anger.

Beverly smothered a giggle. She was rather surprised that he had even worn the knee-length nightshirt that had been laid out for him. _'He sounds like Papa Bear in Goldilocks but looks like a little boy who should be hearing the bedtime story,'_ she thought, watching him unconsciously shifting from one foot to the other. Struggling to keep the mirth from her voice, she said, "It's our bed, my royal husband, or would you banish your queen to a lonely tower?"

"Be serious, Beverly! This isn't proper." He shifted again as the cold of his feet warred with the heat that had surged through the rest of his body at his discovery of the occupied bed.

"I didn't make the room assignments," she said innocently. "I trust you, Jean-Luc. Don't you trust yourself?"

It was a blatant challenge, and he refused to rise to the bait. Telling himself it was only to keep from freezing to death, Jean-Luc blew out the candle and slid beneath the covers. The bedding was pleasantly warm thanks to the servants... and its other occupant.

The simple thought of Beverly laying a mere arm's reach away led instantly to other images that were not so simple. In fact, they were down right dangerous. Turning onto his side away from her, he forced himself to lay still, eyes squeezed shut and tried to concentrate on anything but... her.

After long minutes, he was beginning to relax when he felt the bed shift as Beverly moved toward him. His hope that she was seeking him out instinctively in her sleep was dashed as a smooth hand caressed his face. Rolling to his back, he could see her leaning over him, silhouetted in the sliver of moonlight coming in the window. Her auburn hair glowed as it trailed across her creamy shoulder.

His arms went around her of their own accord when she pressed herself against him. Her lips hovered a breath away from his as she whispered, "You forgot to ask if you could trust me."

Her kiss was a passionate surprise that his brain registered but did not process. His thoughts were focused on learning every inch of the satiny skin beneath his searching hands.

Smooth skin... from shoulder to hip and beyond...

...naked skin...

Clarity returned with a jolt. Grasping her shoulders, he broke the kiss, pushing her away slightly to see her face. The smoldering passion in her clear blue eyes was the fulfillment of a thousand fantasies, and he widened the gap between them as an added defense.

"Beverly... this isn't..."

His thoughts were as ragged as his breathing as he tried to remember what he intended to say.

"Isn't what, Jean-Luc? Isn't proper? Isn't what you want?" Her own voice rasped slightly as she slipped her hand into the open V-neck of his nightshirt to caress the soft hair on his chest. "I'm not afraid, Jean-Luc."

_'Perhaps we should be afraid.'_

Her words after Kesprytt echoed in his mind, haunting him now as they had haunted him and their relationship ever since she had so gently rebuffed him.

Was she was taking them back? Did she truly mean it?

For her part, Beverly had not planned anything more than a moment at a time in advance. The scene in the bathing chamber had been meant to be a friendly practical joke. Emboldened by the break in his voice when he realized that he wasn't alone -- and who he wasn't alone with -- she had moved beyond her initial intention of simply washing his back.

Seemingly of their own volition, her hands had slipped over his shoulders to caress his chest, earning her the pleasure of feeling as well as hearing his sharp intake of breath. It had been easy then, to try something else, to push him a bit further. Leaning into his back with only her shift between them had sent a quiver down his spine that resonated through her. Her attempt to reassure him had been an effort to calm herself, too.

Moving to the opposite end of the tub -- where she could only get her hands on him -- was supposed to still the tingling that radiated through her. Seeing his hazel eyes darkened with desire had changed all that, making it difficult for her to keep up her façade. It did not, however, keep her from pushing the limits yet another step. She was well aware the sensitive points of the feet and legs and used her knowledge to subtly taunt him. When she moved up to his torso, the look in his eyes could have easily swept away what little reason she had left. Only his restraint broke the spell.

She had followed her own directions to the bedroom. Given her comments to Morag about 'the marriage bed', separate rooms were not an option. Her intention to be asleep by the time he got there was thwarted by her own mind. It refused to shut down, showing her vivid images of the on-going activities in the other room.

Water sluicing over taut muscles... a briskly rubbing towel clearing away the last remnants of soap... stray droplets glittering in the firelight...

Her thin shift was suddenly one layer too many.

Flinging back the covers, she pulled it over her head in one swift motion. Relishing the cool air as it skimmed her flesh, she abruptly became aware of footsteps in the corridor. Not wishing to be caught by Morag or Cait in this state of undress, she dropped the shift off the side of the bed and quickly slid under the covers just as the door opened.

Only when she recognized the decidedly masculine form of Jean-Luc Picard did she remember that she had directed him to this bedroom.

Beverly knew her best course of action would be to pretend to be asleep. Once he had dozed off, she would be able to get the shift back on and no one would be the wiser.

Why then did she hear herself do the exact opposite when he found her in his bed? She couldn't tell what he was hoping for as he called her name softly. Did he want her to be awake or asleep?

She felt her own common sense lose the battle as her smart mouth once again took over. There was a miniscule attempt on her part to take the edge off her taunting. What would she do if he accepted her challenge? That thought didn't cross her mind until after she had not-so-subtly dared him to get into bed with her.

The fact that he turned on his side, away from her, didn't disturb her. She understood that it was his way of respecting her as well as protecting himself.

Everything was fine except that as Jean-Luc relaxed, her own tension increased. She had spent countless nights -- and not a few days -- dreaming of being like this with him. In her dreams, however, they were not each clinging to opposite sides of the bed, but were wrapped around one another, lost in passion or drifting between awake and asleep in drowsy satisfaction.

Once again, she didn't stop to contemplate her actions. There was no conscious decision to turn to him, but once she did, she had been filled with a compulsion to touch him, to kiss him, to make him respond to her.

Thrilled when he deepened their kiss, she delighted in the feel of his hands caressing her and was moved when he stopped to be sure this was what she truly wanted.

The words 'I'm not afraid' were uttered before they could be thought through, but her heart told her they were right and good. Some where in the back of her mind, she knew he was supposed to be in love with Anij, but she didn't give a damn. Jean-Luc was here with her now, and she wasn't going to waste this chance the way she had so many others.

She didn't think about how making love would change their relationship. There would be time for that later. Now it was time for her to show him how much she wanted him.

"Love me, Jean-Luc."

Her huskily murmured plea didn't silence his doubts, but it muted them enough for him to pull her back into a searing kiss.

He felt her hands brush his thighs as she lifted the nightshirt, breaking their kiss only long enough to pull it over his head and toss it away. The cold was replaced by exquisite heat as their bodies molded together for the first time.

~tbc~


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Picard was awakened by a great thumping sound. Confused by his surroundings, memory flooded back as he felt Beverly lift his arm from where it held her to him. He raised up on his elbows to watch her slip from the bed and pull on her robe. She opened the door only wide enough to accept the food laden tray from whoever had brought it.

He quickly got into his own robe and joined her at the table near the fireplace. Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, he swept her hair aside to nuzzle her neck. He paused briefly to marvel at his own lack of awkwardness. Being with her completed him, that was the only way he could describe the incredible feeling of contentment.

Turning in his embrace, Beverly slipped her arms around his neck, her slender fingers ruffling and smoothing the short hair above his collar as she drew him to her for a kiss... a kiss that could have distracted them both far too easily. Pulling away with a giggle, she said, "Breakfast is getting cold. Morag said this was the second time she'd brought it. Seems we didn't hear her come in earlier and stoke the fire."

Jean-Luc wasn't interested in food as he caught her for another kiss. "Is that why she felt the need to try to beat down the door?"

She playfully slapped his hands away when they started working on the belt of her robe. "You need to eat if you're going to keep up your strength." It was with caution that she allowed him to hold her chair as she sat down, not quite trusting him to keep his hands to himself -- and almost wishing that he wouldn't.

He took infinite pleasure in simply looking at her across the table. She was so lovely this way, eyes shining, cheeks rosy, hair tousled, dressed in her robe and nothing else. This was far different from all the times she had joined him for breakfast looking crisp in her uniform and med jacket or exhausted from a night disrupted by emergencies. It even seemed perfectly acceptable for them to be in a castle as opposed to his quarters on the Enterprise.

"Why did you decide to go along with Q's scenario?" he asked, giving voice to his thoughts.

She flushed slightly as she recalled how much of it was her scenario. "Well, I must admit that I wasn't what anyone would describe as calm when I arrived. I terrorized several people before I composed myself enough to think straight."

"And what conclusions did you draw?"

"The fact that they were calling me by my name was a major departure from the usual games. I must say I find it highly preferable to being cast as a historical figure due to meet a less than pleasing end very shortly. It's also nice to have everyone being so friendly. Nobody is trying to kill or kidnap or harm any of us." She wrinkled her nose. "Of course that alone should make me very wary."

"What?"

"Having Q be nice to us."

They talked on, comparing notes of what they had seen with what they knew of the alleged area and time period, and he finally made good on his promise to Cait, relaying his praise to her mistress.

Surprised by his easygoing attitude, Beverly decided not to spoil his mood by telling him about Q's use of her play for his framework. A few more hours certainly wouldn't make a difference now.

Jean-Luc had only this morning realized that he was no longer as upset about Q's shenanigans as he had been in the beginning. He would never go so far as to admit it out loud, but he agreed with Beverly that it was a pleasant change not to be in a life or death situation.

The radiant redhead had been right about something else -- breakfast was a good idea. He didn't know how hungry he was until he saw the amount of food that disappeared off his plate.

With one hunger assuaged for the time being, he watched Beverly as she puttered around stacking dishes and straightening the table. He enjoyed the easy domesticity of the scene, but the tempting glimpses of what was hidden beneath her robe brought another hunger to the fore, one he hoped never to see satisfied.

Glancing up when he rose from his chair, Beverly recognized the look in his eyes all too well, and her voice dropped a notch as she tried to control her body's instant response. "Sire, you have duties to attend."

Picard advanced undaunted. "Has not a husband duties to his wife? Is he not bound to keep her happy?" He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her up out of the chair. "Keep her content? Keep her..." his desire was unmistakable as his grip tightened, "...satisfied?" With a soft growl, he kissed her deeply, tugging aside her robe to expose one pale shoulder. His hot mouth trailed down her throat seeking even softer flesh.

Beverly moaned softly as she struggled against the hypnotic power of his hands and mouth on her body. "Jean-Luc, you should practice a little self-restraint, after all, you are the king," she chastised breathlessly. She squirmed out of his grasp, not trusting herself. "We need to get dressed."

"I like what you have on." Then he leered charmingly, "I like you even better without it."

Raising a hand to ward him off as she backed away, she prompted, "Remember the festival? The pas... de-whatever-it-is. Remember our guests?"

Undeterred, he continued to advance slowly toward her, his intent obvious.

She thought she could get around him, but he was nothing less than a master strategist, shifting so that the only possible path open to her was across the bed. That would slow her down, but she could do it.

Jean-Luc made sure she didn't.

He grabbed her ankle, throwing her off balance so that she landed face down on the tangled bed linens. She laughed as she kicked at him, scrambling to her hands and knees, trying to continue her escape.

This time, he caught her around the waist, flipping her over and covering her body with his. Between kisses, he muttered, "It's good to be the king, then you can stay in bed all day."

Torn between her own rising passion and maintaining a sense of decorum, she moaned his name once, then again more strongly. "Jean-Luc, as much as your subjects would enjoy the idea of you spending the day in bed with your lady wife..." She paused, pushing against his chest, levering him up and forcing him to look at her. "I doubt you want your senior officers creating the same sort of speculations about their captain and chief medical officer."

After another long kiss, he grudgingly conceded the logic of her argument. "The king shall find it most difficult to concentrate on anything..." he noted with a loving smile, "anything other than the memories of the temptress who shared his bed last night."

Catching him off guard, Beverly rolled them both over. She straddled his hips, bracing herself above him. Jean-Luc gazed up at her, long hair falling around her face. She leaned down until they were both framed by the red curtain.

Her mouth curled into the wicked angel smile that stole his heart every time. "The queen shall find it most difficult to control the blushes that would acknowledge her own personal confirmation..." she rocked her hips against his, "that the king deserves the title of 'Your Majesty'!"

She laughed at his consternation, then harder as understanding of her double entendre dawned, causing the tips of his ears to redden.

Feigning annoyance at her teasing, he thrust up against her, turning her laughter into a gasp of pleasure. His thumb caressed a hardened peak through the satin of her robe as he said, "Majesty comes in many forms, wench, and your charms are no less worthy of the term."

Loosening the belt first of his robe then hers, he impatiently pushed the material aside and pulled her down on top of him so that they were once again laying flesh to flesh. "Even if we can't stay in bed all day, they can damn well tolerate us being late!" he declared, giving her no opportunity to contradict him as he captured her mouth with his own.

*****

After one major delay -- and several minor ones that Beverly managed to stop by calling for Morag to help her dress -- they were finally ready.

They made a striking pair. The deep amethyst shade of her silk gown perfectly complemented the darker purple of his brocade doublet, and the intricate gold embroidery was identical on both. Beverly's flowing auburn locks were a pleasing contrast to Jean-Luc's close cropped gray hair, and once again, circlets of gold crowned their heads.

"My lady," Picard said, offering his arm.

Christophe, a boy of about eight, presented himself as page to lead them to the tournament field.

Both Beverly and Jean-Luc had a vague idea of what to expect, but their imaginations were no match for the panorama laid out before them as they crested the small hill on the north side of the castle.

Warm spring sun shone down on the wide expanse of rolling green grass as navy and scarlet pennants snapped smartly from the tall poles ringing the area. The large banks of tiered seating that marked the different event arenas were already filling with spectators dressed in their finest. Picard pointed out the jousting lanes at the west end of the field. The broadsword came next, then archery and finally fencing directly in front of the royal box at the east end.

Their belated arrival to the festivities was noted though not commented on, primarily, Beverly suspected, due to a well placed elbow she saw delivered to Will Riker's ribs. Deanna Troi knew how to hit her target.

The counselor sensed a change between the two, but aside from the captain seeming to be ever more at ease in his role of king, she could identify nothing definite. It was an vexing position that she found herself in frequently with these two as they were both masters at controlling their emotions when they put their minds to it... which was most of the time.

As general pleasantries were exchanged, Beverly took advantage of the opportunity to cast an approving director's eye over the costumes that had been chosen for today's 'performance'.

Deanna's damask gown in cream with a silver lace overskirt allowed her dark hair and exotic eyes to take center stage. The lace pattern was repeated in the web-like filigree jewelry that adorned her neck, ears and hair ornaments.

The men were equally dashing as the silver detailing of Deanna's dress was echoed on the black velvet of Will's doublet and served to accent the rakish air about the bearded man. Worf, dressed in burgundy leather doublet, pants and boots, looked comfortable for the first time since arriving. Data's golden skin was complemented by the warm brown velvet he wore, and Geordi's bottle green silk gave him a puckish look that perfectly suited his ebullient personality.

Christophe forgot himself and tugged at Picard's sleeve before remembering his formal bow. The king readily forgave the small lapse, giving the lad an encouraging smile and praising his delivery of the message that everyone had gathered for the official opening of the festival.

Drawing on his knowledge of diplomacy for style, history for content and Shakespeare for phrasing, Picard gave an eloquent speech welcoming the guests. He then won the approval of his 'subjects' by announcing that he would take part in the fencing competition.

His senior staff, on the other hand, had a decidedly different reaction. Given Q's penchant for plot twists, they were more than a little concerned for his safety.

Picard countered -- and won -- the argument by stating that if it was unwise for him to participate, then the same logic should disallow Worf joining the broadsword event as well as Data's planned efforts with a bow and arrow.

That settled, he offered his arm once more to Beverly and the royal couple led their guests to the box that would give them a perfect view of the festivities.

~tbc~


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

There was a lull in the activities as preparations were made to begin the fencing competition, and everyone was taking advantage of the break to refresh themselves.

Beverly watched the milling crowd without really seeing them, her mind far from the colorful spectacle that had been taking place all day. Sipping a cold drink, Beverly's thoughts were on neither the people nor Deanna's attempts at conversation. She was hot, her feet hurt, and the novelty of the setting was wearing thin, her willingness to play along waning at the same pace.

_'As much as I love performing, living one of these things is incredibly boring,'_ she thought irritably as she tried in vain to take a deep breath, her ribs straining against the tight stays and lacings that held her in a vise like grip. The dress was cumbersome and heavy and made her wish that she had given in to Jean-Luc's suggestion to stay in bed. A faint blush crept up her cheeks as she recalled the sensation of cool sheets against heated skin.

_'Okay, I'm not bored with everything. I would simply rather be aboard the Enterprise knowing Jean-Luc is in his Ready Room thinking about me instead of whatever mission we're on while I'm ignoring my work and thinking about him.'_

Brushing a few windblown strands of hair away from her mouth, she could feel her frown. She knew she looked like a pouting child -- which was a fair description because that was how she felt. _'I want to go home.'_ She probably would have given into the urge to stamp her foot, but her shoes were painful enough as it was.

The silent wish for home sent her thoughts in a new direction. It was unusual for Q's scenarios to last this long, but it was the departure from the plot of her play that made her uneasy. Then again, none of what happened last night -- and this morning -- between her and Jean-Luc had been in the play either.

_'Is Q peeved because Jean-Luc and I didn't follow his 'script'? Is that the reason for dragging this out?' _

That seemed unlikely because the pas d'armes had already been planned when she arrived. _'So what were we supposed to have done differently?'_

A flash of movement caught Beverly's attention, driving out all thoughts of Q. She watched a figure cross to the far side of the fencing area.

Eyes narrowed, she read the body language that told her the king was doing his level best to be a gentleman. It wasn't easy because Lady Margot was outrageously playing the coquette as she tied a yellow ribbon around Jean-Luc's arm.

Most of the knights had carried their ladies' 'favors' into their matches. It was, however, the greatest insult for an attached man, either married or betrothed, to carry the colors of anyone other than his own lady.

Jean-Luc tried to politely decline the offer -- one that clearly went beyond the ribbon itself -- to no avail. With a simpering giggle designed to draw the attention of the crowd, Lady Margot flitted away.

Her departure set off another one.

"Does Geordi actually know how to play the mandolin, or should I be glad I'm over here with you?" Receiving no answer, Deanna turned to find herself talking to thin air. Beverly had left the royal box and was marching across the field to where Picard stood.

"Wait!" Deanna called after her departing friend. "Where are you going?"

Beverly never slowed her pace as she called over her shoulder, "To stop a bit of non-covert intrigue!"

Will and Worf, arriving from the opposite direction, looked to Deanna for an explanation, but she shrugged her shoulders as uninformed as they were. They watched the redhead move determinedly toward Picard.

Cursing under his breath, Jean-Luc was fumbling with the knotted ribbon when a slim hand covered his.

"May I be of assistance, your majesty?" Beverly purred.

Following her gaze to the brightly colored material he was struggling with, Jean-Luc realized that she understood the significance of carrying a lady's favor as well as he did.

"She wouldn't take no for an answer, Beverly," he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Her gentle smile reassured him -- until he saw her slip a small dagger from the braided gold belt around her slender waist. The ornate handle flashed in the sunlight, and he held his breath, waiting to see what she would do next.

"Your integrity was never in doubt, Jean-Luc, for you are a kind and good man who would never embarrass a lady in public." She grinned wickedly. "Fortunately, I am not bound by such chivalry."

The sharp blade sliced through the ribbon easily, and the scrap of material was forgotten before it reached the ground. Returning the dagger to its sheath and uncaring of the people watching, she allowed the passion to show in her eyes as she tied her own colors to his sleeve.

In the wake of the previous night's turn of events, Beverly wasn't surprised by the possessive feelings within her. What shocked her were the various unpleasant ideas she had for dealing with a woman who was no real rival.

Thoughts of revenge faded as Jean-Luc took her hand from where she had rested it upon his chest. Only she was close enough to see his lips part slightly before he pressed a kiss into her palm. Only the two of them felt her tremble, knowing it was caused by the tip of his tongue brushing lightly across her skin. When he released her hand, her fingers curled to capture the kiss.

The onlookers roared their approval of the entire scene, at last reminding the pair that they were not alone. A few ribald comments were heard as Jean-Luc escorted her to the royal box, but they were quickly silenced by a stern look from the king. He departed with a gallant bow after seeing her settled comfortably.

Returning to the field to meet his first opponent, he pondered the unusual and public nature of his actions. _'Is this what Q was hoping for? Have I lost all contact with reality?'_

The question was quickly followed by the answer.

His behavior was reality -- the reality of the way he would proudly show his love for Beverly for all the galaxy to see if ever granted the opportunity.

A smile lit his face as he realized he had been given that chance. The words 'I'm not afraid' filled his heart with joy the same way that similar, negative words had filled it with anguish after Kesprytt. Reaching up, Picard touched the ribbon on his sleeve, a mysterious half smile playing on his lips, and it was an effort to focus his thoughts on the upcoming matches.

His task was aided when the fencing master formally called the competition to order. After a brief explanation of the rules, stewards inspected each weapon, making certain that the leather safety tip was securely buttoned.

The leather masks and identical white fencing outfits meant that the participants were identifiable solely by the colors borne on their sleeves. Many were pleased -- while a certain few were fascinated -- to note that the queen's eyes followed only the splash of scarlet she had presented to the king.

The single elimination matches continued for more than two hours with Picard advancing steadily, though not always easily. He had honed his skills against a variety of holodeck creations, but the setting of a competition exhilarated him. His movements and strategies were crisper and more decisive.

A few aches made themselves known as he prepared for the semi-final bout. They eased immediately when he saw Beverly smiling down at him from her place in the royal box which was directly adjacent to the fencing area. He winked at her as he put on his mask then stepped up to meet his opponent who was waiting, masked and ready.

The man fought with vigor, despite the number of matches they had both already completed. As the attacks came faster and harder, Picard was forced into a defensive stance, and he began to realize that his opponent did not see this as a competition but as a duel.

"Jean-Luc, watch out!"

Beverly's shout came at the same instant that sunlight glinted off the now unprotected tip of his opponent's rapier. Twisting as he raised his own weapon, Picard succeeded in parrying most of the force of the thrust, but the razor sharp metal pierced the protective padding just inside his left shoulder and under the collarbone. Pain blossomed at the site, burning through his chest and down his arm. He collapsed, but not before seeing Worf capture the man.

The crowd gasped as the leather mask was removed to reveal Lord Philippe de Benoit, brother of Lady Margot. Murmurs of speculation rippled through the onlookers who knew the history between the lady and the king.

Beverly shoved her way through the knot of people around where Jean-Luc lay. Kneeling at his side, she cautiously examined the injury, peeling back the edges of the torn garment that was slowly becoming the color of the ribbon fluttering on his sleeve. She reached under her dress and ripped a wide strip from her underskirt, folding it into a pad to press against wound. After a few minutes, satisfied with his color and that she had stanched the flow of blood, she allowed Data and La Forge to assist him to his feet, while Riker did the same for her.

Lightheaded, Picard swayed momentarily before steadying himself. The gathering watched intently to see what he would do, but Beverly didn't give him a chance to speak. With a howl of rage worthy of the Klingon warrior who had taught it to her, she charged at Lord Philippe. Will managed to catch her, her forward momentum nearly sending them crashing to the ground. Anchoring one arm around her waist, he wisely took the dagger from her belt and tossed it to Deanna.

"You coward! How dare you attack him that way!" Beverly roared, wanting nothing more than to scratch his eyes out.

"He defiled my sister and then cast her aside! It is she who should be queen, not you!" the enraged man shouted, struggling against Worf's restraining hands.

Utilizing the gossip he had heard recently, Picard stated firmly, "I made no promises to your sister... and I was some time too late to be the lady's first! Your reprehensible actions have insulted the spirit of this festival, its hosts and the men who participated honorably." Placing a calming hand on Beverly's arm that earned him a tender smile, he added, "Take your party and be gone, Lord Philippe. Never return to this land or our next encounter will be under vastly different circumstances."

Lord Philippe started to speak but was silenced as Beverly took two steps forward. Pointing a steady finger at the now cowering man, she spoke in a soft but forceful voice, the words in Gaelic carrying a more terrifying weight for not being understood.

Pale and shaking, Lady Margot pulled her brother away. Their few supporters melted into the crowd as they wisely, if belatedly, saw the benefits of backing the king rather than one of his enemies. Worf followed the pair to be sure they mounted their horses and departed with all due speed.

Instantly forgetting the de Benoits, Beverly turned her attention back to her patient.

"I'm all right," Jean-Luc assured her as she checked his wound again.

Blue eyes that still carried a shadow of apprehension looked at him evenly. "You are a wise king -- but no judge of medical matters. My medicines are at the castle. We must return there so that I may tend you properly."

He could see that, despite her vast knowledge of herbal remedies, she was chafing under the restraints of the primitive options open to her. No matter how much she was enjoying this 'play', things had taken a dangerous turn, and she would prefer to have him in a real Sickbay with the all latest technology at her fingertips.

"All right, wife," he conceded, relishing the opportunity to use the affectionate term. "I'll not argue with you. You would only ignore me anyway."

Truth to tell, his shoulder felt as though it was on fire, and he would welcome the occasion to sit down long enough to make the world stop spinning around him. He laid a heavy arm over Beverly's shoulders and knew she understood as she slipped a supporting arm around his waist.

~tbc~


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

The Enterprise officers had gathered again in the great hall, and the discussion naturally centered on the attack on their captain.

"Do you think it was wise to let him go, sir?" Will asked.

Picard's shrug sent a stab of pain through his shoulder. Beverly had treated his injury with a mixture of herbs, then placed his arm in a sling. She forced him to drink a vile concoction she had the gall to label as tea before being satisfied that she had done all she could to prevent an infection. The faintly bad taste that lingered in his mouth from the 'tea' was more memory that reality but he couldn't seem to shake it.

With a grimace at the pain, he answered his first officer's question, "I don't know where the dungeon is, Number One, and I couldn't kill him. Despite the alleged time period, it would be wrong, and I don't want to give Q the chance to use it as evidence of human inferiority. Somehow I doubt that Lord Philippe would be coming back, even if this were all real. A failed assassination would make him a target for many loyalists."

Beverly had seen him wince. She silently fretted about not having the instruments to completely heal the wound and hoped that Q would soon be returning them to the Enterprise so that she could do a proper job of it. Infection was only the beginning of her concerns. The attack on Picard was yet another alteration to her play, and she was growing worried about what other plot twists Q had in store for them. _'What's to prevent Q from letting any one of us die?'_ It was time to tell the others about her play. They would not be happy that she had kept quiet for so long, but they could be mad at her after Q returned them. Now, the more people who knew, the easier it would be to figure out what might happen next.

She looked up, startled, as Riker repeated the question he had already asked twice.

"What was that curse you put on de Benoit, Beverly?"

"Curse?" Her brow furrowed for a brief moment, then she blushed lightly as she realized what he meant. "Oh, that... it was nothing really. It wasn't even a curse, just something that popped into my head and had a good rhythm."

"They certainly looked as though you had laid a curse on them."

"These are superstitious times," she said evasively. "Even a nursery rhyme can sound intimidating if it's said in a language you don't understand."

She thought she had Riker ready to let it drop... which was when someone else decided to take up the questioning.

Jean-Luc had known from the beginning that she was reluctant to reveal what she had actually said. Her relief when his first officer appeared to lose interest piqued his own curiosity. It wasn't often that he got to put her on the spot. "So what innocuous bit of fluff is going to torment Lord Philippe and Lady Margot for the rest of their days?"

She looked at him for a long moment from beneath a gracefully arched auburn eyebrow. "It wasn't a 'bit of fluff'," she admitted at last, knowing from the twinkle in his hazel eyes that he wasn't going to let it rest. "When Wesley became an full ensign and was given access to the unrestricted mission logs, he kept playing one over and over until it made me crazy, and I told him he couldn't do it while I was there."

Picard was teasingly skeptical. "You were reciting a mission log?"

"More of a mission statement. It was the first one you recorded. Wesley said you used it because James Kirk used it at the launch of the original Enterprise." He looked blank, so she said, "You know, the one that went 'Space, the final frontier...'

Her recitation was cut short by a flash of light as Q appeared again, this time dressed as a nobleman in russet brocade.

_'I wonder if he found out about the alternate names for a jester?'_ Beverly thought to herself. _'But where does a cosmic entity research that sort of thing?'_

Picard confronted him before he could speak. "Q, return us to the Enterprise at once."

"You usually enjoy a mystery, mon capitaine..." he cast a sidelong glance at Riker, "or should I say King Jean-Luc. Don't you want to find out how the story ends? Who knows what sorcerers or dragons await?"

"You know," Worf snapped.

"So speaks the narrow-minded micro brain," Q sneered. With a wave of his hand, a tray of golden goblets and a carafe of wine appeared on the table. "But I also like surprises. Wine anyone?"

The others ignored his offer, but Beverly moved to the table and poured some for herself. Sipping thoughtfully from the heavy goblet, she joined the group as Picard spoke again.

"Q, you've succeed in stretching my patience to the limit." His shoulder hurt, and he wanted to go home.

"Is there a point to all this, Q?" Beverly interjected politely.

The entity was confused by her non-belligerent attitude. In fact, she had been uncharacteristically compliant throughout this game and was enjoying herself far too much. It wasn't fair for her to spoil his fun even if he had made use of her ridiculous play. He stalled as he tried to determine when he had lost control of the situation. "Must everything have a point?"

"I suppose not," she agreed with a genial smile, "but you usually do have a purpose in mind."

"What about entertainment for entertainment's sake?"

"Don't you mean entertainment for your sake," Riker asked, also casually, as though they were attending a dull Starfleet banquet rather than King Jean-Luc's court.

This unruffled attitude was beginning to annoy Q. They were having fun -- at his expense. Only Picard was behaving the way he was supposed to; the way Q expected him to behave. "You shouldn't be so short-sighted, Riker. What could be more entertaining than good wine and good company? Camaraderie is..."

He was interrupted by a moan from Beverly. Her face was pale as she clutched her abdomen. The goblet fell from her hand, trailing ruby red wine like blood as it rolled away with an echoing clatter. Picard caught her as she sank to the floor. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he cradled her gently.

"Poison... in the... wine," she whispered, her breath coming in short gasps. "Why?"

Q backed away as Worf and Riker moved toward him. "The wine is not poisoned," he defended himself petulantly.

"You've gone too far this time, Q. Stop this now!" Picard demanded urgently.

"I haven't done anything!"

"Jean-Luc..." Beverly's voice was scarcely audible. Her lashes fluttered once, twice before her eyes drifted closed.

"Please, Beverly, hang on," he begged her, holding her close, uncaring of who saw or heard. "Don't leave me. I love you, Beverly, please don't leave me now."

Deanna knelt next to the distraught man. His emotions nearly overpowered her, making it difficult for her to focus on something underlying the scene -- something that didn't feel as though it should be there in this time of tragedy.

_'Glee?'_ How was that possible?

Identifying another out of place element, she looked up at Q. "Are you going to let her die? Is that what this game has been leading to?"

"It's not my fault!" he screeched.

None of them had ever seen the entity so flustered -- but they still weren't ready to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"She's dying, Q!" Riker snapped, leaning in, almost nose to nose with Q. "Do something!"

"She can't be dying, because there is no poison in this wine!" Shoving his way between the two men, he went to the table where he picked up the carafe, sloshed some into a goblet and drank it. "See? I told you..."

Riker knocked the goblet from his hand. "You're immortal. Poison wouldn't affect you."

"Q, please," Deanna pleaded, "at least send us back to the Enterprise so that we can help her."

Q sputtered some more then suddenly, they were no longer surrounded by the rough stone walls but by the smooth bulkheads of the Enterprise.

The Captain reacted first, nearly shouting, "Picard to Sickbay! Medical emergency in the Observation lounge!"

The woman in his arms opened her eyes and tried to sit up. "Jean-Luc, I can't breathe. Crusher to Sickbay. Belay that emergency order. We'll be coming down there."

Picard watched in shock as Beverly slipped from his arms and rose to her feet with some assistance from Data.

"Worf, would you help the Captain up, please? And watch out for his shoulder." She tugged at the bodice of her dress, which had twisted awkwardly in the commotion. "Damn, the least Q could have done was return us to our uniforms. Come on, Jean-Luc, I want to take care of that shoulder the right way."

She took his elbow, but he jerked away from her.

"What is going on?" he demanded. "You were dying a moment ago!"

The doctor had the grace to be embarrassed. "Um, no, not really. I took a chance and tossed in a plot twist Q couldn't foresee." She was touched that he had proclaimed his love for her so openly but knew he would be discomfited by the public declaration when he had time to think about it. She sought a way to deflect attention away from his words. Turning, she laid a hand on the counselor's shoulder. "Deanna, I knew you could sense that I wasn't dying, and it really helped that you went along."

Despite the fact that none of this was placating the men, Deanna went along again. "How do you manage to perspire on cue?" she asked, hoping to diffuse some the riled emotions.

"Oh, that," Beverly waved a hand distractedly, watching Picard out of the corner of her eye. "That was nothing but good old fashioned flop sweat. Either it was going to work or I was going to be facing one angry entity."

"What exactly was your... plan?" Riker demanded. Terror had turned into anger, two of his least favorite emotions.

Beverly tried to rake a hand through her hair and muffled a curse as her fingers caught in the ornaments Morag had put there. _'I should have told them earlier, but no, I had to keep a few cards up my sleeve.'_

"Well," she said slowly, "we all saw how it confused Q when we played along instead of fighting him..."

"Something you convinced us to do before we saw Q as the jester," La Forge pointed out.

There was no way out now. She was going to have to face up to concealing information, and it was best to have them all mad at her at once. "That's because I knew the basis for his scenario. I don't know how he found out about it, but most of the setting came from a play I've been writing. I was working on it the night before he showed up."

"Would you mind explaining why you didn't consider this to be an important point to mention until now, Doctor?" Picard's voice was cold, a far cry from the heart-felt declaration of love he had made only minutes before.

"Because nothing in my play was the least bit dangerous. There was no tournament, no outraged brother." It was a weak defense, and she knew it.

Picard knew precisely how to attack a weak defense. "And yet, when these details presented themselves, you still didn't tell any of us about your play or the deviation from it."

"Participating in the tournament was your idea. We tried to talk you out of it. I didn't know de Benoit was going to attack you until after it happened." The image of sharp steel entering Jean-Luc's shoulder flashed through her mind. Clamping down on the terror that was still too fresh, her next words were deliberately casual and slightly disdainful. "I was getting bored with the whole thing anyway."

Picard's jaw clenched tightly. "That doesn't explain your actions after I was injured. You had ample opportunity to tell us what you knew."

"I was going to, but then Q popped in again. When he mentioned surprises, I thought I'd give him one. It was a spontaneous idea. I couldn't tell any of you about it, there wasn't time. I took a chance to catch him off guard."

She bit her lip as one finger traced the embroidered pattern on her skirt. Squaring her shoulders, she looked up. "I realize that my act was... excessive... and I'm sorry for upsetting everyone. I was only trying to get us out of that ridiculous story."

She looked to Picard for a hint of understanding, but he avoided her gaze. She was hurt until she saw the faint sheen of sweat on his pale brow.

Instantly professional, she moved to his side, "Let me see your shoulder, Jean-Luc." She lifted the makeshift bandage and was concerned to find that his wound was bleeding again. Her guilt escalated, knowing that he had reopened it when he caught her. "Come on, I want you in Sickbay right now."

Again he pulled away from her. "I can get to Sickbay on my own. The rest of you -- get back into uniform and return to your duties."

"Practicing medicine doesn't require a uniform," she replied, hoping that his attitude stemmed from pain and not something worse.

"I'm sure that Dr. Selar quite capable of handling this."

Beverly felt as though she had been slapped. Except in the direst of circumstances, he had frequently refused assistance until she could treat him. Now he was making it patently clear than he wanted anyone but her.

"Of course, Dr. Selar can take care of it, but I know what treatment you have already received and..."

"And all it consisted of was a few herbs. A tricorder can tell her anything she needs to know. I think you have assisted quite enough for the time being, Doctor." He suddenly became aware that the others had not left. "Do I have to make it an order for you to return to your duties?"

The tense chorus of "No, sir" was spoken to his back as he stalked out of the room.

After giving the Captain a head start, Riker, Worf and La Forge filed out, not looking at Beverly. Deanna followed them, pausing long enough to give her friend a reassuring smile. It was easier for her to be forgiving since she had known almost from the beginning that Beverly wasn't truly dying.

Data did not leave with the others. Turning to the Doctor, he said, "I believe that much of their annoyance stems from the fact that they did not arrive at a solution themselves."

"Thank you, Data, but that's not what's bothering them. Riker dislikes it when anyone other than he or the captain takes charge. Worf considers my deception to be a dishonorable tactic -- even if it was against Q."

"I do not believe Geordi is angry."

"Yes he is, but the anger is secondary in all of them. They were all just plain scared, and Riker and Worf opted to focus on what made them mad." She sighed as she dropped in to the Captain's chair at the head of the conference table. "They deserve to be mad. What I put them through wasn't very nice."

"Surely the fact that you are alive is more important?"

"Data, we're friends, right?"

The android cocked his head in confusion. "You are a superior officer..."

Tired of looking up at him and tired in general, she waved him into a chair. "That's irrelevant. I consider you to be my friend, regardless of your rank."

"Then I would say that you are my friend also."

"When you saw me lying there, did you see a friend or a superior officer?"

The sadness that crossed his face was a surprise for Beverly. After so many years of forgetting that Data did not have feelings, it had been and still was an adjustment to see the visible manifestation of his emotion chip.

"I have processed many situations that have been uniquely affected by the activation of my emotion chip. At the time the Enterprise D crashed, the chip had not been in use a sufficient length of time for me to have developed an attachment to the ship so that I did not perceive the loss as many others did. However, I believe I might now express similar regrets if the E were to be damaged beyond repair."

Beverly waited patiently. She knew he was headed somewhere with all this, and Data's thought processes often proved to be fascinating.

"I believed that I understood friendship as I have participated in a number of personal relationships." His words slowed as his lightning fast brain tried to comprehend emotions that had confounded millions of species for billions of years. "However, since the installation of my emotion chip, I have not endured the loss of someone whom I would classify as a friend... not until you... died." His face contorted briefly before he looked up at her. "It was a most unpleasant feeling. I did not like it."

The simple, eloquent words ratcheted Beverly's guilt up several notches. "Data, I am so sorry," she choked out on a sob. "I never meant to hurt any of you. I just didn't stop to think."

The words were comforting to Data, but he had not yet learned to control the rare occasions when he cried. A single tear trailed across his golden cheek.

"Please, don't cry, Data. I can handle anybody's tears but yours."

"Do you consider my tears to be less sincere because I am an android?" He was hurt and curious at the same time -- which was an intriguing sensation in itself.

Beverly reached out and brushed the dampness away. "I know your tears are the most genuine of all. What you're feeling is something everyone has to experience and that most people try their best not to inflict on others. I hurt all of you for no better reason than I was bored and found a petty way to annoy Q. I've been incredibly selfish in so many ways over the last two days -- or whatever equivalent Q uses for time."

Having paid close attention to the manners of the people around him for the last two days, Data rose, gave a small bow and extended his hand. "I have often heard that work is a suitable outlet for excessive emotions."

She smiled, accepted the offered hand and let him draw her to her feet. "We also happen to be under not-quite-orders to get back to our duties. Thank you, Data, for trying to understand."

"May I say, Doc-- Beverly, that I hope it will be a prolonged period before I am again required to attempt an understanding of such loss."

"I hope so, too, Data," she answered, kissing his cheek. "Let's go back to work."

Data gallantly offered his arm and escorted her from the Observation lounge.

*****

Picard sat stone-faced and silent, ignoring the quiet bustle of Sickbay activity as Selar ran a tricorder over his wound, studying the depth of the puncture and the remnants of the moist vegetation packed inside the bandage. The Vulcan, well aware of Dr. Crusher's background in herbal medicine, recognized the CMO's handiwork and nodded in confirmation of the results achieved.

"How did you receive this injury, Captain?"

"Dr. Crusher can give you any details that a tricorder won't supply," he replied tersely.

"She is not here, sir, and you are," she replied neutrally. "In order to have a complete medical file, proper information is required." She arched a doubtful eyebrow as she saw his jaw set stubbornly. "If you will answer my questions, I can complete the necessary treatment and release you. The sooner you answer, the sooner you leave." It puzzled her that humans, who were always the most eager to leave Sickbay, consistently failed to grasp such simple logic, even a man as intelligent as the captain.

"I was stabbed."

Her impassive gaze was a prompt for more detail.

"With a rapier."

She did not waver.

"A sword used in fencing competitions."

"You were participating in a fencing competition?" Her arched eyebrow rose further, but Picard couldn't tell if it was in puzzlement or disparagement.

"Q arranged it."

It was the first semi-illuminating piece of information he had given her so Selar ignored his snappish tone and went to get a regenerator.

Picard made a conscious effort not to squirm as he sat on the biobed, wishing that the Vulcan doctor would hurry up and that Beverly would not arrive while he was still there.

Rewarded on both counts despite his impatience, he had time to think as Selar worked silently on his shoulder -- and to regret taking his annoyance out on the doctor. It was not her fault that while Q had merely dangled the carrot Picard had been the one to chase it. When nothing untoward had happened the first day, he had egotistically decided that he could handle anything. He had paid for that arrogance -- quite nearly with his life. Q's tricks had worked yet again.

Rather than rage futilely at Q, he found a target for his displeasure closer to home.

It was all Beverly's fault.

However unwittingly, she had given Q the carrot he used to torment them. That was forgivable, but keeping her knowledge a secret while urging them to play along was not. He had never suspected that Beverly could be so deliberately cruel as to laugh behind their backs while they muddled their way through the mystery when she had all the answers.

_'Beverly knew everything that was going to happen,'_ he fumed, _'and when she got bored with her own 'ridiculous story' she scared the hell out of everyone by pretending to die!'_

When Beverly collapsed, he had been terrified that he would lose her just when they had come together. Shock had warred with anger and with joy when she revealed her ruse -- until devastation won out at her announcement that boredom had been her primary motivation in getting Q to return them.

The possibility that what happened between them last night -- and this morning -- was merely because she had been following a script was a decidedly unpleasant afterthought.

His anger returned full blown. It was easier to be angry for her deception than to be hurt by her rejection, and it was just the armor he needed when he met Beverly at the door on his way out of Sickbay.

"Jean-Luc, did --" she broke off as he brushed past her without speaking.

Beverly watched him until he disappeared around the curve of the corridor, her heart sinking with every step that took him away from her.

~tbc~


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Beverly offered only an abbreviated Sickbay report during the next morning's staff meeting and made no comment on anything else that was presented.

Everyone felt just as awkward, and they were all relieved when the Captain said, "If there's nothing else..."

"I have something." Once she had their attention, Beverly spoke quickly. "I spoke with Worf earlier and now I want to apologize to all of you for everything that happened. I had no way of knowing that Q would use my play, but when I did find out... well, I shouldn't have persuaded any of you to go along without telling you what you were going along with. Above all, I shouldn't have scared everyone by pretending to die. That was excessive and uncalled for. I'm very sorry."

There was silence as everyone waited for the Captain to speak. When he didn't, all eyes turned to Riker.

_'Why is he holding such a grudge?'_ the first officer wondered. _'Surely Deanna talked to him last night.'_

A long talk with the counselor had been key to convincing Riker that Beverly was sincere in her remorse. He understood now why she had kept the secret of her part in 'writing' the scenario. It was not hard to imagine himself cavalierly assuming that because of a little inside information he could outplay Q at the entity's own game. Deanna said the others felt the same way.

_'So why couldn't she get the Captain to believe it?'_

They were still waiting for him to something, anything. He eyed the doctor from beneath one arched eyebrow.

"The only way you could possibly make it up to us," Will said ominously before breaking into a huge smile, "is by losing -- a lot -- at tonight's poker game."

Relieved to see similar smiles almost all the way around the table, she replied, "Every hand, I promise."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell by the set of his jaw that the Captain would not be making one of his rare appearances.

*****

Beverly had remained in her seat after Picard's quick departure. Riker, La Forge and Data each let her know once more that she was forgiven with a smile or a pat on the shoulder. Deanna wanted to talk after the men had left, but Beverly insisted she was alright.

_'Deanna might have accepted being brushed off, but Jean-Luc isn't going to find it that easy to get rid of me. If he's ashamed of our relationship or feels that he had betrayed Anij, then he's going to have to tell me face to face.'_

She allowed him a few minutes to get settled before she left the lounge and crossed the bridge to the Ready Room door. She could feel the bridge crew watching her as she squared her shoulders before ringing the chime.

"May I speak with you a moment, Captain?" she asked as she entered.

Picard was keenly aware of her timing. Having only minutes before stated that things should be quiet for most of Alpha shift, there was no way he could claim that he had pressing matters to attend. _'I should have expected this,'_ he thought, chastising himself for not anticipating such an elementary tactical maneuver.

"Yes, Doctor?"

His cool tone and defensive posture behind the desk -- as though he needed a shield -- hurt and confused her. As she took the seat opposite him, she mentally rephrased her question to a less intimately personal one. "I know my poisoned wine charade put everyone through a great deal of unnecessary distress, but the others have accepted my apology... why won't you?"

"I have accepted your apology, Doctor. You have my own for not making that clear. In the unlikely event that a similar situation ever arises, I'm satisfied that you would find an alternative solution."

His formality acted like a match to the short fuse of her temper. "Then why are you acting as though I brought the Black Plague back with me?" she demanded.

The vehemence of the question startled him, and he withdrew further behind his Captain's mask. "Your tone, Doctor..."

"Not doctor, damn it, I'm Beverly!" she nearly shouted, slapping her hand on the desk. She saw him flinch and knew she had gone too far yet again. "I'm sorry I yelled, but I don't understand. We're friends -- I thought we were more than friends -- and yet now you treat me like a stranger. Tell me what I've done, please. Don't I deserve that small consideration?"

Picard tugged on his tunic as he sat back in his chair. "This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion, Doctor. I'm on duty, and so are you."

This was more than anger at her deception. She now knew that something else had gone horribly wrong... but what?

"When is the time? At breakfast tomorrow?" she asked softly. His grimace was a clear indication that he found the idea of sharing a meal with her repugnant. Her stomach twisted at the rejection, and she instinctively fought back. "No, I didn't think so, Captain. Fine, I hope you and your wounded pride will be very happy together. Keep your petty secret and suffer in silence as you always do."

She rose and walked to the door. A step away from tripping the sensor, she looked back at him. Sorrow was clear in her eyes and her words. "It's bad enough that I've lost my best friend, but I don't know why... and that is infinitely worse."

Cold fear gripped Jean-Luc Picard's mechanical heart as the door swished closed. Could he have misunderstood? Or was it only friendship she wanted now? He didn't want to go back to the way things were. He didn't want to be alone, but he couldn't make himself go after her.

*****

snick... snap...

snick... snap...

snick... snap...

Leaning back in the chair, feet propped on the desk, Beverly absently opened and closed the tricorder as she stared blankly at the wall.

Deanna stood in the doorway of the doctor's office for a full minute without being noticed.

A week ago, she had sat in bewilderment along with the others as the Captain refused to acknowledge Beverly's heartfelt apology. He hadn't taken Riker's teasing acceptance any better. She didn't know the detail of what transpired in the Ready Room confrontation that had followed almost immediately after, only that it was agonizing and heartbreaking for both parties.

Privately she was aware that the two had not shared breakfast since the Ba'ku incident, but now it was clear to everyone that he was avoiding all contact with her. Their relationship had been strained at times over the years due to various disagreements, but those were angry blow ups that quickly subsided.

This development disturbed people for the very lack of anger between them. An aura of melancholy had settled over the pair, and its tendrils reached out to touch the entire crew.

Deanna lowered her mental shields, searching for any new piece to the puzzle.

Loss... regret... anger... confusion...

They were a few of the emotional strands she had come to accept as part of the make up of a physician who was dedicated to her profession and keenly felt the loss of any patient.

Remorse... contrition...

_'Those could be shadows from the Q incident. Why hasn't she forgiven herself when everyone else has?'_

Everyone but the Captain.

The doctor, still unaware that she was being watched, heaved a sigh that was ominously close to a moan.

Deanna was suddenly aware of a sorrow bordering on mourning. This wasn't a professional loss, it was a deeply personal one, and the counselor had a fair idea of what it was.

"I would ask if you were busy," she said, finally making her presence known, "but I wouldn't want you to lie."

"Hi, Deanna," Beverly replied, not taking her feet from the desk. She had been expecting this visit. "I won't lie to you. I'm slacking off, plain and simple."

"Any particular reason?"

"Yes."

There was a wealth of emotional portent behind the single word, and Deanna grew worried when nothing more was forthcoming. It was unlike Beverly to withdraw so far into herself.

"Beverly, talk to me. I want to help."

To her surprise, the other woman chuckled softly and shook her head.

"I think my motivational acting advice has been taken a little too much to heart. Deanna, you can stop being your mother now."

"I'm serious..."

"I know you are," the doctor cut in quietly, "and I really do appreciate it... but I'm still not ready to talk about it. Give me a little more time to sort out a few things on my own. I promise, in a couple of days, you won't be able to shut me up."

Knowing she would get no further, Deanna nodded her reluctant agreement to the request and turned to leave. She looked back at the sound of a soft click.

Beverly was playing with tricorder again. This time, she had taken out the scanner and was rolling it between her fingers.

~tbc~


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

_'Breathe, Beverly,'_ she coached herself as she stood outside the door. Her palms were damp as she smoothed her straight black skirt and tugged on the hem of her ivory blouse in an unconscious mimic of the man she was about to face. _'Just ring the bell and stop imagining what you think he'll say.'_

The doctor knew this surprise visit was going to give her the upper hand, but somehow it was not giving her the confidence she hoped for and desperately needed. Waiting a day hadn't been an emotional bolster either. She was holding her breath again as she pressed the door chime.

His sharp, "Come" told her he wasn't pleased at being disturbed at this hour. That was key to her plan. First he would be angry, but his anger would falter when he saw who his visitor was. That was another key. He was still in uniform as she had known he would be... which was why she had chosen civilian clothes.

Shock flashed across his face before he could put his 'Captain's face' firmly in place. When he didn't offer her a seat, she remained standing but moved closer to where he sat on the sofa so that he was forced to look up at her.

His tone was suitably neutral, and only a friend of long standing would hear the faint edge of annoyance as he asked, "What can I do for you, Doctor?"

Use of her title told her how to proceed next.

"A few minutes of your time, Jean-Luc." She saw confusion in his eyes when she called him by name. She had so many keys to him... except the key to his heart.

"I've made a couple of decisions that I believe you have the right to know about first hand. I'm leaving Starfleet. I could simply leave the Enterprise, but I want the gossip to die down as soon as possible."

"Leaving? Why? And why would there be gossip?" he asked aloud. _'And why involve me?'_ was the question he kept to himself.

"It seems that I've hurt you, Jean-Luc -- terribly. The problem is, I don't know how I've hurt you. You won't tell me, and I can't figure it out. All I can say is that I would never deliberately cause you pain. That's why I'm leaving."

She stopped, looking away. None of this had been easy, but now came the hard part. Turning back, her blue eyes locked with his hazel ones. "I'm pregnant, Jean-Luc," she said softly. "I know how much the speculation would bother you, so I'm leaving before anyone else finds out. I'm going to Caldos. It's not on the regular Starfleet traffic pattern so there is less chance for me to encounter anyone who knows both of us."

Realizing that she was just short of babbling, she forced herself to slow down. "Please understand that I don't expect anything from you, Jean-Luc. I'm telling you where I'll be in case you ever want to see the baby. I won't try to keep you away. You aren't comfortable with children, but if you should feel differently about your own child..." The hope that blazed in her heart quickly burned out as his face remained impassive. "Just tell me how you want me to handle it, and I will."

Jean-Luc wasn't sure that she took more than one breath during her final speech. It was one more than he had taken.

When she came through the door, he had been caught unawares to the extent that he could not get to his feet to face her squarely. The announcement that she was leaving had been so quickly followed by her apology for hurting him that he could scarcely comprehend the revelation about her pregnancy. It was too much information too quickly. He spoke words he hadn't known were waiting on his lips.

"You intend to keep this child?"

Despite the validity of the question, he phrased it badly, and that was the way she chose to take it.

"Let me amend my statement," she said, glowering down at him, unconsciously wrapping her arms around her waist. "I'll do almost anything you want, but this baby is also mine. Yes, I intend to keep it. If you never want to hear from me again, I'll abide by your decision." She nearly choked on the words, knowing she would pity him forever for turning away his child.

"Why?" he asked slowly, still trying to get a grasp on what was happening.

"Why what?" she demanded sarcastically, determined to make him state his position clearly.

Confused on so many levels, Picard wasn't quite sure what he meant.

Why had she rejected him when they returned? Why did she want this child? Why had she told him about the baby? Why did she care about how he felt?

Just how did he feel?

The first clear emotion was the one that had become a part of him the moment he first saw her. He loved her. Unspoken for years -- then rejected when it was spoken -- it was still and would always be the way he felt about her.

"When you were..." his voice cracked and he had to start again. "When you were 'dying', I told you I love you. In front of everyone. But when it was all over, you said it was a fantasy, and you were bored with it." The anger and betrayal he had felt at her words surged within him once more. His voice rose, "You let me believe that what happened between us was real..." before it broke to a harsh murmur "and then you tossed it aside as though it was some casual shore leave liaison." Unable to bear seeing the truth of his words that he knew would be in her eyes, he kept his gaze locked somewhere around her knees.

She heard the pain that darkened every word and would have been properly contrite and sympathetic for inadvertently hurting him with her imprecise statements -- if he had told her any of this during their conversation in his Ready Room. But he had chosen to shut her out and that infuriated her.

"Are you upset that you revealed your feelings in front of your crew or is it the fact that I had the gall not to die?" She gave him no chance to answer the question. "Last week you loved me, the week before that it was Anij. Who will it be next week? You don't love me or anyone, Jean-Luc," she added harshly, "you just love being a martyr."

His head snapped up at the accusation. "How dare you! I..."

"You what, Jean-Luc? You love me so much that you let me marry another man? So much that you let me go when I said I was afraid after Kesprytt? So much that you let me trample your heart again and again?"

Her own bitter laugh sounded foreign to her as she lashed out again. "That's not noble, Jean-Luc, it's pathetic. Did it ever occur to you that I might not have married Jack if I'd known how you felt? Did you care enough to ask me why I was afraid? Did you confront me about my 'boredom' to find out if I might have been trying to protect you from embarrassment? Did you stand up for yourself at all?"

She forestalled his attempt to respond with a raised hand. "No, you never do anything because you'd rather wallow in self pity. You carry on a string of relationships that you have no intention of committing to and blame me for holding your heart hostage. Well, I'm not playing your games any more. Decide now -- do you want me to stay in touch after the baby is born or do we end this whole thing now? What do you want?"

Her accusations and revelations pounded in his head. He wanted to scream back at her but could find no words because everything she had said was true. All the confidence and decisiveness he showed as a Starfleet officer seemed to fade away when it came to the woman he loved.

Amidst all the chaos, only one thing was important.

Slowly, he said, "I don't want you to 'stay in touch'..."

Hearing her soft gasp, he looked up to see her blinking back tears and knew that she had misunderstood his words the way he had misunderstood hers to start this mess. He spoke again quickly to correct her erroneous impression. "I don't want to be an absentee father."

Rising from his seat, he moved to stand in front of her, aching to touch her but holding back for fear of upsetting her more. "I want you to stay here so I can help you and be a part of the baby's life every day. I don't care about gossip or speculation, because nothing about you or our child could ever embarrass me. I love you, Beverly."

The words touched her heart, but she could not allow herself to be moved by them -- not yet. "Is that supposed to solve everything? I've just said some terrible things to you, and you've been thinking terrible things about me. Is one 'I love you' supposed to make that all go away?"

"No, but I hope that it will give us a better place to start. You were right about me. I was -- am -- afraid to find out exactly what you meant about being bored."

He held out his hand and waited an eternity for her to take it, grateful for the small concession. "Over the last ten days, everything I thought I could rely on in my life has been turned upside down. The Federation, Starfleet, my own judgment. I hadn't begun to recover from that when Q came along with his own brand of confusion and for whatever reasons, I was granted my deepest wish of being able to make love with you. Then you seemed to turn away... and I was no longer sure what was real and what wasn't." His voice hardened in self-recrimination. "No that's not true. I knew it was real, but I've never allowed myself to believe that you could love me. When you said you were bored with everything..."

"I never said I was bored with you," she interrupted softly, wanting desperately to stop the pain they had caused each other. "I was tired of the fantasy world Q put us in, even if it was my own creation. I wanted to be here, living my real life and sharing it with you." Her gaze fell away. "I thought you couldn't stand the sight of me because you had decided that what happened between us was a mistake."

"Beverly, I can't remember a time when I didn't love you," he insisted, squeezing her hand when she tried to pull away. "I will always love you."

She looked at him again, loathe to ask the question but knowing there could be no unfinished business between them if they were to go forward with their relationship.

"What about Anij?"

Picard was mortified to realize he had all but forgotten the Ba'ku woman. How could he explain that episode, not only to the woman he was still in danger of losing, but to himself as well? "My feelings for Anij were no deeper than an adolescent whim. Hard to think of myself as adolescent at my age, but that's how I was feeling on Ba'ku... young and impetuous and ready to take on the galaxy just like a cadet fresh out of the Academy." He gave her a sheepish grin. "Besides, I think it is an ancient genetic trait for men to aid damsels in distress -- no matter how capable they are of taking care of themselves."

The smile faded when she failed to respond to his explanation or to his teasing.

_'She's right, this isn't something that can be tossed off in a joke.'_ He searched for the words that would say what he felt when he hadn't yet examined his own feelings.

"There is something in me," he began slowly, "that prefers the urgency of life rather than the unfathomable stretch of eternity. Anij wanted to teach me to live within the moment, to make a single moment last as long as possible. In retrospect," his mouth quirked in a small show of self-derision, "which came about an hour after we left Ba'ku, that seems to be redundant when a reasonable expectation of their life span is well over 300 years. No matter how long a moment lasts or how perfect it may be, it is only a moment."

His fingers tightened around hers. "You want me to live every moment. Beverly, you challenge my mind, my heart, my soul. Every moment with you makes me eager for the next and the next. Someday I hope I can prove my love and earn your love in return."

Her free hand was steady as Beverly reached out to touch his cheek, but there wasn't anything she could do about the tremor in her voice. "You can't earn what you already have."

He held her hand to his face before sliding it down to his mouth. The kiss he placed in her palm was a deliberate reminder of his similar actions on the contest field. "I'm sorry for being such an old fool."

"It doesn't matter anymore. What's one week when we have years ahead of us? Us, Jean-Luc... you, me and our baby."

His hands rested lightly on her hips as he dropped to his knees before her and kissed her flat belly through her clothes. "A baby," he murmured wondrously. "Are you sure?"

"Double checked and triple checked," she assured him, stroking his head and pressing him closer. "King Jean-Luc's subjects would be greatly pleased with your first efforts."

He loved the feel of her gentle laughter as it vibrated through her to where his cheek rested. Looking up, he saw sparkling sapphire eyes smiling at him. More importantly at the moment, he saw the lush mouth that had been driving him insane for years coming down to cover his.

~tbc~


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11

Jean-Luc shifted slightly, pulling her against his chest, draping one arm around her waist so that his hand rested protectively over her stomach.

Kissing the sensitive spot behind her ear, he asked a question that he had thought of earlier before being delightfully sidetracked.

"How did you find out?"

Sated and on the brink of sleep, Beverly mumbled a question of her own.

"Find out what?"

"About the baby. We only made love a week ago. You aren't having morning sickness already are you?"

With a muffled, unintelligible sound, Beverly turned in his arms, snuffling a bit as she sought a comfortable position -- and one where his chest hair didn't tickle her nose.

"No..."

"No what?" he asked with a chuckle, almost missing what she said next.

"...accident."

Fear rushed through him, roughening his voice as he fired questions at her. "Accident? What accident? Beverly, were you injured?"

When his arms tightened around her, she groaned and came fully awake. She broke his hold with effort and pulled back to look at him, demanding, "What is the matter with you?"

Stunned by her querulous tone, he sat up, running a hand over his head. "You said you had an accident! I'm not supposed to be concerned about that?"

Missing his warmth -- and confused by his words -- Beverly sat up as well, wrapping the sheet around her. "Let's start over, Jean-Luc," she said patiently, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Who said anything about an accident?"

"You just did!" he barked, making her jump. Taking a deep breath, he went on. "I asked you how you found out about the baby so soon, if you were having morning sickness. You said no, then something about an accident..." His hand trembled as he reached out to touch her hair. "Gods, Beverly, I can't bear the idea of you being injured."

Understanding his fear, she still had to smother a laugh as she leaned in to kiss him. "I love you, Jean-Luc, but there are a few things you need to learn about me. For one thing, just because I answer you, that doesn't mean I know I'm talking to you -- especially when I'm tired. All that effort I put into learning to curb my tongue is totally wasted when I'm only half conscious."

"But you said 'accident'."

Beverly shook her head at his one track mind, but she was glad to see he had relaxed considerably. "And you should only listen to me when I speak in complete sentences. Had I been actively participating in your conversation, I would have said that I found out not _because_ of an accident but _by_ accident."

Her attitude had calmed him as much as her words. If she could tease him, then he knew there was truly nothing to worry about. "Oh, well that certainly clears things up," he said in mock satisfaction as he laid down.

Blocking the pillow as she swung it, he caught her wrist and pulled her to him for a kiss. Drawing back to look at her, he asked solemnly, "If I phrase the question properly, will you answer me in complete sentences?"

Pretending to consider the request, she finally nodded her agreement.

"Doctor Crusher," he said in his best Captain's voice, "for the record, will you describe how you came to discover your current... condition?"

Beverly made a show of fluffing the pillows before settling herself against them and tucking the pale blue sheet around her. All her busy work couldn't keep a faint blush from coloring her cheeks. She knew precisely how foolish this was going to sound.

"Captain, sir," she said, mocking his own tone, "I was in my office yesterday --"

"Yesterday?" he broke in. "You've known since yesterday?"

She pretended to glare at him. "If you're going to interrupt me at every sentence, we're going to be here all night."

It was his turn to look askance at her.

"All right," she conceded, "we're going to be here all night anyway, but if you'll let me answer the question, we could move on to other things." Shaking her head, she added teasingly, "I never dreamed you would be so chatty in bed."

He was tempted to forego the answer in favor of the promise in her clear blue eyes, but he was a patient man who knew that restraint could have its own rewards. Shifting onto his side, he propped his head on his hand and indicated for her to continue.

"As I was saying, I was in my office ignoring the work piled on my desk and trying to wear out the power cell on a tricorder instead." She saw his puzzlement and explained. "You know -- open, close; power up, power down. Anyway, Deanna came in wanting to know what was wrong. I put her off with a promise to talk later and went back to what I was doing. Since tormenting a tricorder it isn't nearly as exciting as it sounds, I popped out the scanner."

She paused, looking down to where he was idly running a finger up and down her arm. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

With a sheepish grin, he placed an apologetic kiss on her bare shoulder and took his hand back.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. I had my feet up on my desk so I started with them because they were out there. I was working my way up my legs when I wondered if maybe I ought to check my head -- to see if I had any functioning brain cells left."

He smiled at the outlandish direction the recitation had taken. "Were you in some doubt about the state of your brain?"

Her eyebrow arched in silent censure. He had interrupted yet again, and worse he, a mere captain, had dared to question her expert medical 'diagnosis'.

"I was in my office entertaining myself with tricorder readings, my love," she pointed out, "instead of being in here entertaining myself with you. Yes, professionally speaking, my cognitive processes could be described as highly suspect."

"Even though I had decided that I need to have my head examined, I took the long route, running the scanner up my body but not looking at the readouts. Just as I got to my neck, Sickbay filled up with everybody involved in that ridiculous holodeck incident." She shook her head, still bewildered by the fact that alleged adults could get worked up to the extent of coming to blows over a simple game of Paresis Squares.

"In all the chaos, I had forgotten about my own scans until I ran across them while I was clearing out the tricorder. I checked to see if there was anything worth adding to my file... and found a completely unanticipated reading." She fell silent, the shock of her discovery shimmering through her once more.

He saw the shadow in her eyes and thought he knew the cause. "How did you feel when you saw it?"

"Stunned," she replied quietly. "I wasn't expecting a negative result. I wasn't thinking about it at all."

"And once the shock wore off?"

A tiny smile appeared, lighting her face with an ethereal glow. "Joy... absolute joy. It was almost exactly the same way I felt when I found out about Wesley."

He couldn't understand the perversity that made him point out the dark side of what they should be sharing as a joyous occasion. "But you and Jack were happily married. You and I weren't even speaking."

"I know," she whispered. "I went through that, too. I wanted to run straight to your ready room... then I remembered."

"Were you angry with me?"

"I wanted to be..."

Her voice trailed off, and he wondered if and how she would finish the sentence.

"Mostly I was afraid."

"Afraid?" The answer surprised him. He had fully expected her redheaded temper to take the lead. He couldn't imagine what would be able to frighten her enough to overwhelm her anger. "Afraid of what, cherie?"

Abruptly, she rolled onto her side away from him. Her voice was thick as she said, "I was afraid that you wouldn't want me or the baby... or worse that you would want the baby and not me. I couldn't stand the thought --"

"Beverly, don't." He gently turned her back to look at him, brushing aside her hair so that he could see her face. "The reality of you is far more than I ever dreamed of. I'm so desperately sorry that I hurt you."

The tears she had managed to keep at bay earlier now filled her eyes as she wrapped her arms around him.

Holding her close, he murmured in her ear, "Never, ever be afraid that I don't want you, Beverly. I will always want you, will always need you as a friend, as a companion, as a lover."

Her sobs shook them both as the emotions she had been suppressing for the last week finally overwhelmed her. He rocked her gently; soothing her with words of love that he had waited a lifetime to say, even as he cried his own tears of anguish and relief.

When she cried herself out, Jean-Luc dried away the last damp traces and long into the night he simply watched her sleep.

*****

Looking across the breakfast table, Jean-Luc was reminded of a similar scene, one set in a castle in a mythical kingdom.

It pleased him to know that her hair was once again tousled because of his hands, that the slight swelling of her lips had been caused by his kisses. He loved the way his robe -- a half size too large for her -- kept trying to slip off first one shoulder then the other. He wanted to feel this way forever.

"Beverly, there's something I want to ask you."

Looking up from her plate, she was surprised to see hesitation shadowing his face. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered if he was now having second thoughts about all the changes that had occurred since last night.

He saw her uncertainty and held out his hand, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze once they were wrapped in his.

"You don't have to feel obligated to say yes immediately -- or even to say yes at all. I only hope that you will give it serious consideration."

She smiled softly at his rushed speech, thinking that he sounded rather like all the people who had been convinced that Queen Beverly was going to turn them into toads.

"I think I can promise that."

She waited, but he remained silent. "Jean-Luc..." she prompted.

"Yes?" he said eagerly, hardly daring to believe that she would have an answer for him so quickly.

"What is it that I am supposed to be considering so seriously?"

Reddening far beyond the tips of his ears, he wondered why all his diplomatic skills had abandoned him at such a crucial moment, leaving him an inarticulate mess.

"I... uh... would... that is..."

Without releasing his hand, she rose from her chair and rounded the table to kiss him soundly. The action startled him, but after a moment, he relaxed into it, pulling her onto his lap.

Beverly murmured against his lips, "Keep your eyes closed and ask the question."

Drawing back, his beautiful hazel eyes opened to see her watching him as he replied, "No, I want to look at you." He reached up to smooth her hair, tucking a flaming lock behind her ear. "Beverly, will you marry me? I'm not asking because of the baby, honestly. I'm doing it because I love you, and I want to be your husband. I'll understand if you would rather wait..." he faltered. "Or not marry me at all..."

Beverly silenced him once more with kiss, then said, "I love you, Jean-Luc, and the only thing I want more than to be the mother of your child is to be your wife."

In a flash, he had scooped her up in his arms and was on his feet whirling around as his triumphant laughter filled the room -- a room that only the day before had felt so lonely and empty.

"Jean-Luc, stop!" she pleaded.

Collapsing on the sofa, he was startled when she buried her face in the curve of his neck. A moment later he realized her breathing was shallow and gasping. Taking her shoulders, he pushed gently, trying to look into her face. He caught only a glimpse and was appalled to see that there was a faint greenish tint to her skin.

"Beverly, what is it?"

Her only reply was a moan as she pressed closer to him. She mumbled something that sounded like 'rub my back' -- which he did in hopes that she would soon be able to tell him what was wrong.

Her breathing slowly returned to normal and when she sat up, her skin had gone from unhealthy green to embarrassed pink.

"Morning sickness?" It was the only guess he had, and he was going to keep using it until it was the right answer... which it wasn't this time either.

"Motion sickness," she confessed sheepishly, passing a shaky hand through her hair. "Spinning around like that makes me violently ill, pregnant or not. It's my fatal flaw -- think you can live with it?"

"I'm not sure," he answered with a twinkle in his eye. "I think it's asking quite a lot of me just to deal with your temper. This seems to go above and beyond the call of duty."

"How difficult can it be?" Beverly demanded in the same teasing tone. "Just don't spin me around, and there's no problem. So, do you still want to marry me?"

"My beautiful Beverly." His hands framed her face as his own grew somber. "The only time I ever hated Jack was the day he married you. I wanted so desperately to be in his place... to be the man you loved..."

"You are the man I love," she vowed, holding him close, "the man I will love for the rest of my life."

"I want our marriage to bring us closer together. I want to know that I will always be able to talk to you about anything, that I won't have to hide my feelings anymore."

Beverly kissed him, loving him more for his idealized view of marriage. She knew how he felt because she had been just as starry eyed when she married Jack.

~tbc~


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

The rest of the senior officers, prepared for yet another tense staff meeting, were pleased -- and confused -- by the obvious change between the captain and CMO. Though professional as always, there were covert smiles and looks that could only be missed by the completely unconscious.

Riker and the others breathed a silent, collective sigh of relief that things were not only back to normal but were, apparently, better. Now it would just be up to one of them to find out what had brought about the change.

Deanna accepted the silent -- but unnecessary -- assignment from Will. Her curiosity had gone in to high gear the moment she sensed that the fog which had surrounded Beverly had been replaced by a calm serenity. There was deep happiness there as well, but she had never known the doctor to be so at peace with herself.

When the meeting broke up, the counselor fell into step beside her as they went out into the corridor. "Are you ready to talk yet? We could have lunch in my quarters."

"Sorry, Deanna. Starfleet won't accept all the scans I had to run on everybody to try to determine the effects of being in the Briar Patch, so I've got a full schedule of physicals." She dreaded the tedious task, but it had to be done. "You might warn the others that Sickbay is going to be wall to wall ensigns for the next two days, and they probably want to stay away for anything short of life-threatening! How about dinner tomorrow night?"

Deanna acquiesced to the delay although it strained her patience. She consoled herself with the fact that it was going to be a far more pleasant conversation than she had been anticipating just two days ago.

*****

Beverly joined Deanna for dinner as they had arranged. Throughout the meal, however, she purposely avoided what she knew the counselor most wanted to discuss.

Sitting on the couch, hands folded in her lap, Deanna decided she had been patient enough and took the direct approach.

"Okay, we've talked all around the reason you're here. What is going on between you and the Captain?"

"Do you want the long or the short version?" Beverly asked coyly, even though she was bursting to share her news -- and knew that the counselor could sense it.

"How about the short version? Then we can determine which points need clarifying."

"Okay, here goes." Beverly took a deep breath. "Jean-Luc and I made love while we were in Q's scenario. He misunderstood something I said when we returned, but he obstinately refused to tell me why he was upset. Then I found out I'm pregnant. I told him about the baby, and we had a huge fight, but we made up and everything is fine now." She started to take a sip of her tea but set her cup down as she thought of one last detail. "Oh, by the way, will you be my maid of honor? We're getting married in a month."

Deanna's dark eyes had grown wider with every sentence, but she remained silent at the end.

"No questions? Okay, I guess I'll be going. Thanks for dinner."

Beverly rising from the couch brought Deanna out of her shock. She grabbed the doctor's arm, pulling her back so that Beverly landed with a soft "Oof" as she sat down.

Deanna's expression rapidly turned from delight to horror as she remembered her friend's 'delicate condition'. "Oh, Beverly, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn't mean--"

"It's all right, I'm fine. That was nothing compared to some of the things Jean-Luc and I --" She broke off, blushing furiously as she realized what she had been about to say. "Uh... well... maybe we don't need to go into all that. The point is I'm fine, the baby's fine, everything is fine. Now, which points have you belatedly decided need clarifying?"

"All of them!" the counselor squealed. Embarrassed by her vehemence, she lowered her voice. "Let's start at the top. You said you and the Captain made love?"

"Deanna, if you need clarification on that I think Will could give you a much better explanation -- complete with a hands on demonstration!"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it!" Deanna said, taking the teasing with good grace. "Beverly, all joking aside, you've been literally dancing around the issue of a closer relationship for years. What happened? Why now?"

The doctor sat back, a small frown creasing her porcelain brow. After all that had transpired, the question -- for some unexplainable reason -- was totally unexpected.

_'Why did we do it? When and how did things change between us?'_

"I guess it was the 'relationship' Q put us in," she said slowly, verbalizing feelings as she began to identify them. "I had fun taunting Jean-Luc about us being married. That night, we ended up in the same bed... don't ask how, that's a whole other story. Anyway, it just felt right to turn to him. After a day of pretend marriage, it was easy to forget about all the issues that have been between us. I didn't have to think about how we got to that point, we were already there. Perhaps someday those issues will come up again -- if they were as important as we made them out to be -- but right now..."

"Right now you are deliriously happy," Deanna said, stating the obvious.

"Deliriously describes it perfectly. It was just so many happy things in a short period of time. Declarations of love, a marriage proposal, a baby. Of course, we did it baby, declaration, proposal, but then Jean-Luc and I have never had a conventional relationship."

A true romantic, Deanna asked, "How did he propose?"

"Warily!" Beverly laughed at the memory, her expression turning dreamy as she recalled his hesitation. "He did it very carefully assuring me that it wasn't because of the baby. The thing I don't understand is why he believes being married means we'll communicate any better than we do now. We both tend to retreat with our hurt feelings. Breaking that habit is going to be tough. Adding a baby directly into the mix won't make it any easier."

"May I ask a professional question, Doctor?" Deanna inquired with mock formality.

"Of course."

"I know you have the contraceptive implant and logic would follow that the Captain has one as well --"

"So how did I wind up pregnant?" Beverly completed the question for her. "I have no idea. The implants were part of the check that I did on everyone after we left the Briar Patch. The Ba'ku radiation had no effect on them. I removed mine when I discovered the pregnancy, so I checked it again and it's still in perfect condition."

Given the change in her relationship with Will, Deanna was glad to hear that... but it didn't solve the puzzle. "Do you think it could be Q's doing? That it was his intention all along?"

Beverly's brow furrowed as she considered the bizarre possibility. "Even if Q does... care... about him the way Data once theorized, I can't imagine that he ever considers anything as mundane as Jean-Luc's love life. He certainly has no reason to pay any attention to mine." She smothered a laugh. "The very idea of Jean-Luc and I together probably turns his immortal stomach. The fact that we're reproducing in such 'vulgar human fashion' might just kill him!"

"So what's the answer?"

"Maybe Q's distorted time frame didn't allow for such advanced technology -- if he thought about it at all."

"But Data is more advanced technology than a simple implant."

"Ah, but Q likes Data almost as much as he likes Jean-Luc and probably doesn't see him as 'technology'. We forget that he's an android often enough, more so now that he has his emotion chip."

She could tell Deanna was still in pursuit of a solution and tried to head her off. "Okay, I don't know how it happened." Patting her abdomen with satisfaction, she added, "Frankly, I don't care, I'm just glad it did. An unplanned pregnancy -- rare as they are -- is never a problem solver, but it seems to be working as a clarifier for us. Looking back now, so many of the obstacles between us were irrational fears that kept us from crossing the line into true intimacy. It forced Jean-Luc and me to talk about some of the things that we let get in the way."

Sensing the peacefulness that filled her friend, Deanna was willing to let the subject drop, knowing that Beverly would be back if one of those irrational fears reared its ugly head.

"Well, we've covered most of the points in your recitation -- except the last one. Are you really going to try to put on a wedding in a month?"

"Actually it's more like three weeks. It will be two weeks before we reach Earth, and the inquest should take another week." Beverly sighed heavily before continuing. "My fiancé is a wise man. Jean-Luc figures that after the Ba'ku fiasco, Starfleet won't have the nerve to refuse any and all shore leave requests from the Enterprise so it will be the perfect time for a ceremony that everyone can attend and still let us have a honeymoon. It's not the best way to get what we want, but at least we'll be on Earth so that the ceremony can be held at the vineyard in France. It's important to Jean-Luc that his sister-in-law, Marie, be able to attend. The baby and I aside, she's the only family he has left."

Deanna heard the underlying longing. "And your family? What about Wesley?"

"I'm not sure how to contact him, but he somehow seems to know just when to drop by for a visit," Beverly said a bit too brightly. "I'll worry about that more as the wedding date gets closer. Now, what sort of dress would you like to wear?"

The rest of the evening was spent making wedding plans.

~tbc~


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13

The buzz of Sickbay was pleasant background noise outside her office as the staff went about their work while Beverly continued to let hers slide for a few minutes more.

_'It's a rare thing to get exactly what you wish for,'_ she thought contentedly.

Well... more like half of what she had wished for. While she couldn't be certain that Jean-Luc was in his Ready Room thinking about her, she was happily ignoring the stack of padds that cluttered her desk as she indulged in few idle moments daydreaming of Jean-Luc and their future together.

It still made her head spin, realizing that they had gone from best friends to lovers to antagonists to expectant parents to betrothed in what felt like the blink of an eye.

_'So many changes so fast. It feels right -- but is it for the right reasons?'_

She sighed ruefully. Of course, thinking was what usually got them into trouble. Perhaps it was time to follow their feelings...

A sudden burst of activity in the treatment area jerked her out of her reverie, causing her to tug sharply on the lock of red hair she had twisted around her finger. By the time she untangled herself, the commotion was over.

Beverly settled back in her chair and forced her attention to the report on her terminal, knowing Dr. Selar, Alyssa and the others could handle... whatever it was.

She knew them as well as they knew her -- and they knew something was up because of the mysterious smile that had graced their boss' elegant features with greater frequency in the last few days.

Feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up, she quickly hid one of those smiles a split second before she heard a voice from the doorway.

"Hi, Mom."

She didn't take her eyes off the terminal screen on her desk. "Hi, Wes," she said casually. "You're getting better. You didn't set off the intruder alert this time. So what brings you here?"

He was pleased by her nonchalant attitude, especially since he had scared her so badly on his last visit by appearing out of thin air. The red alert klaxons and Security personnel bursting into her quarters had not helped the situation.

Now, he carefully considered his reply to achieve the best reaction. "Well, I would have said it was the disturbance I felt during your foray into the Briar Patch, but the truth is I had a chat with Q."

It worked.

Sitting back in her chair, Beverly looked up at her son, the young man with a hint of her red hair and all of his father's jaunty grin leaning against the doorframe.

"And what did he have to say that made you feel I needed checking on?" she asked cautiously. Where and how her son had come in contact with the entity were questions that could wait for now.

"Well, he said a lot of things," Wesley explained as he entered the room to sit in the chair facing her desk. "But what really got my attention was the bit about you being pregnant -- by Captain Picard."

A little disappointed that she had not been allowed to tell him herself, Beverly was nonetheless relieved that her worries about how he would take the news had proved unfounded. The hopeful look in his eyes was all she needed to know that he approved.

Her expression told him just as much.

"I don't know if it's true that pregnant women glow, but you definitely look happy. I'm glad, Mom. You deserve it, and so does the Captain."

In response to his statement, she sat back in her chair and tapped her communicator.

"Crusher to Picard."

"Picard here."

"Jean-Luc, Geordi needs to fine tune the intruder alert system. Wesley arrived without setting off any alarms."

"He's getting better." His easy chuckle told her he was alone in his ready room.

An attempt to suppress her own merriment failed as she went on. "He's better informed, too."

"Better informed?" There was a long pause then the sound of a cup hitting a desk came through the link. Picard cleared his throat before saying, "You mean... he knows..."

"He knows," Wesley interjected, "and he's extremely pleased about all of it, sir."

The next sound -- a groan -- was soft but audible. "Uh, thank you, Wesley. I, uh, didn't realize you were listening. I believe we had best continue this discussion in my quarters."

"You mean you two aren't living together yet?" Wesley phrased the question more brazenly than he would have dared if the Captain had been in the same room.

"Wesley!" his mother hissed, her face flaming. "You have a right to certain information, but that is none of your business."

"I'm confused," Wesley said, reveling in the rare opportunity of having the upper hand. "It's okay for me to know that the two of you are sleeping together -- which is obvious because you're pregnant -- but it's not okay for me to know about your living arrangements?"

It was hard to tell who spluttered more, his mother or the Captain.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly finally managed, "we'll meet you in your quarters -- if I don't kill him first."

"On my way. Picard out."

*****

Taking a moment to compose himself before stepping out on to the bridge, Picard was grateful to recall that Deanna was occupied with appointments this afternoon.

The crew was instantly alert as the Ready Room door hissed open, and the first officer rose to his feet to relinquish command. He was immediately waved back into the big chair.

"Number One," the Captain said as casually as possible, "have Mr. La Forge recalibrate the intruder alert system, then ask him to join me for dinner in my quarters tonight at 1900 hours. You and Mr. Data," he nodded toward the Ops station, "are also invited, along with Counselor Troi and Mr. Worf, if you would be so kind as to let them know. The dress is casual."

"Certainly, sir, uh, thank you," Riker answered, confused by the order and the invitations. "May I ask the occasion?"

Picard paused a moment, thinking. "Call it a... family reunion." It was clear that the cryptic reply was all they were going to get as he stepped into the turbolift.

As the lift door closed, he heard Riker state triumphantly, "It must be Wesley."

*****

Upon reaching the Captain's quarters, Beverly didn't bother to find out if Picard had arrived first, her fingers flashing over the keypad with practiced ease.

_'Even if they aren't living together yet, at least she has a code that doesn't require his presence to grant her entrance,'_ Wesley thought smugly.

He suppressed a grin at the realization of just how 'at home' his mother was in the Captain's quarters. She shrugged out of her lab coat, tossing it over the back of a chair as she breezed through the room on her way to the replicator. Ordering lemon tea for herself, she turned to silently inquire as to her son's preference. Wesley declined, searching the surroundings for any small variations that might have occurred since his last visit.

There was nothing overt to indicate a change in the relationship, but then again -- wasn't that Nana Felisa's quilt in the chair by the viewport? He was glad to see it as it was the best indication of how much time his mother spent here.

Beverly settled into a corner of the couch, and her son sat next to her... knowing she was just aching to ruffle his hair the way she had done when he was a child.

They both looked up as the door opened to admit Picard.

There was a subtle yet visible hesitation as he caught sight of the pair seated on the sofa.

Wesley rose, extending his hand in greeting. Watching the older man closely, he thought, _'This could be more fun than I thought!'_

The Captain -- commander of the Federation flagship, arbiter of the last Klingon succession, diplomat par excellence -- appeared to be afraid to face the twenty-something son of the woman he loved.

"It's good to see you, sir."

"It's good to see you, Wesley, and under the... circumstances, why don't you call me Jean-Luc?"

The young man grinned. "I'd like that, but it's going to take some work. Starfleet training is a hard habit to break."

"Um, yes. Why don't we sit down?"

Wesley waited -- not so much out of respect but to see what Picard would do. He was pleased to see the Captain take his own recently vacated place on the couch. Beverly inched closer to him.

"I'm certain you have some questions..." Picard trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Seating himself in the chair nearest his mother, Wesley said, "Well, I would have wagered that if we were going to have a talk about pregnancy and intentions that I would have been the one on the spot not the two of you."

"Wesley!" Beverly's face pinked again, and she began to scoot away from Picard. Without hesitation, he took her hand and pulled her back.

"Mom, it's all right. I told you I'm happy about all of it. Will you be staying on the Enterprise?

"Yes." Picard answered formally. "I have asked your mother to marry me, and she has agreed."

"Glad to hear it. Will you have the ceremony soon or are you planning to wait until after the baby is born?"

Beverly had to keep reminding herself that his nonchalant attitude was because of his advance notice of the situation. "We're getting married at Jean-Luc's home in France right after the inquest."

"Okay," he replied slowly, running over a mental to-do list. "This will have to be a short visit then so that I can make time for the wedding. I want to be there to escort you down the aisle."

Not wanting to embarrass herself or them by crying, Beverly turned to humor. "Don't you think that giving the bride away is rather old fashioned?"

"I'm not giving you away," came the quick response, "I'm letting the Captain know I don't mind sharing you... not with him or my new sibling."

"It's only a question of sharing if you visit more often," Picard chided gently.

The Crusher grin flashed again. "Ah, the stepfather routine is starting early."

"I have to get in some sort of parenthood practice so that I'll be ready when the baby comes."

The easy banter was a surprise to both men as they were only now beginning to realize how their relationship had changed. It was not so much that Beverly was romantically involved with Picard as it was the change in the direction of Wesley's life. In a Starfleet command structure, they would have found such familiarity nearly impossible, even if Wesley had been posted to another ship.

Wesley grew serious as he said, "Don't worry, sir, you're going to be a great father." He took a deep breath. "I should say this now, before I lose my nerve. I know you gave me certain amount of latitude in the beginning because of my parents, I just hope I proved worthy of the consideration."

Jean-Luc was startled to feel tears sting his eyes. "Wesley, I couldn't love you more if you were my own son. You've earned that and my respect on your own, independent of the connection to your parents." He squeezed Beverly's hand. "I will be very happy if our child grows up to be the compassionate, honorable, caring person his -- or her -- older brother is."

Beverly gave up the battle. "Well, since neither of you are going to do it, I'll just have to cry by myself," she said, tears streaming down her face. The tears were joined by joyful laughter as she leaned over to kiss her fiancé before her son pulled her to her feet for the hug he hadn't gotten on his arrival.

Wiping her face, she changed the subject. "You're not going to like this, Jean-Luc, but Wesley said he heard about our... news from Q."

Picard stiffened at the mention of the entity's name. "Q? He came to you?" Having had spent the past several days trying to forget most of Q's latest game, he couldn't ignore how it had changed his relationship with Beverly. It disturbed him to know that Q was aware of the baby -- and what he might do with that information.

"No not really. It's a bit difficult to explain where we met. Let's just say I stumbled across him. He was pacing around mumbling to himself."

"Q? Pacing and mumbling?" It was difficult to envision such an event. "What was he saying?"

His audience was on the edge of their seats as Wesley clarified, "Honestly, sir, he mostly rambled. First he claimed that Mom died from drinking wine, which for some reason he felt the need to assure me he did not poison. Then he said she was pregnant so I figured the dead part wasn't true. But, I knew I had to come to get the story straight when he said you were the father."

"You didn't believe him?" Now Picard was confused. Wesley had said repeatedly that he was happy about everything. How could he be so pleased with the situation if he had not accepted the story Q told him?

It wasn't hard to guess what the older man was thinking. "I knew the story, however disjointedly he told it, was true. He was too upset not to believe that he had the details right. I just couldn't believe the two of you had finally figured out what everyone else has known for years -- that you love each other and you belong together."

Picard stared at him, dumbfounded by Wesley's frankness. _'I keep forgetting he's not the awestruck boy who first set foot on the bridge all those years ago.'_

"I have to admit," Wesley went on, "Q is much more entertaining when he's babbling than when he's testing us."

Beverly and Jean-Luc agreed whole-heartedly with the assessment, and proceeded to tell him their most recent encounter -- leaving out certain personal details that he managed to decipher for himself.

"Well, that explains a lot," Wesley nodded. "Q couldn't figure out why, after the initial irritation wore off, none of you were upset about what he had done. I don't think he's ever had anyone play along before. He even said that he couldn't remember why he'd done it all in the first place!"

Glancing at the chronometer, Picard was surprised to see how much time had passed. "I invited Will and the others for dinner. Shall we share our news with them tonight?"

"Deanna would be happy if we did." Seeing Wesley's confusion, Beverly explained, "She knows everything, but we asked her not to say anything until we made some sort of formal announcement. Given that this will be the juiciest piece of gossip to ever hit the Enterprise, it's been hard for her to keep quiet." Her brow furrowed her thoughts took a different turn. "We can tell them about the wedding, but I'd rather not tell anyone else about the baby until after the ceremony."

Now it was Jean-Luc's turn to be perplexed. "Why?"

"Because once it's out, it won't matter what we say, people are going to assume it's the real reason we got married. I just don't want to have to deal with all the whispers before the ceremony... not on top of the inquest. Do you?"

He couldn't fault her reasoning, easily imagining the talk that was bound to ensue, regardless of the timing. "I'm a lucky man to be getting a wife who is as wise as she is beautiful."

"Yes, sir, you are!" Wesley cut in with a grin.

Jean-Luc saw the same echo of Jack Crusher that Beverly had seen earlier in the young man. He hadn't quite understood until that moment how much it meant to him to have the approval of Jack's son.

"Come on, Mr. Lucky," Beverly teased as she rose, then pulled him to his feet. "When you arranged this get-together, did you give any thought to the menu?"

"No, it was a spur of the moment idea." When she rolled her eyes he added earnestly, "I did say the dress was casual."

"And is this what I have to look forward to as your wife?" she demanded. "Last minute dinner guests with no menu planned and no time get myself dressed appropriately?" Unable to keep up her pretense of anger, she threw up her hands in resignation.

"I promise to do better in the future. Why don't you go rest for a bit, change clothes and then come back? I'm sure Wesley and I can handle a simple dinner."

Beverly looked from her fiancé to her son and back. "Okay... but whatever you do, Jean-Luc, don't let him cook!"

Wesley shrugged off the faint reproach. "I keep telling her that I was born in the age of replicators for a reason!"

*****

_'Family reunion' was an apt description,'_ Picard thought, as he surveyed the gathering over the rim of his wine glass. Standing alone for a moment, he was taking advantage of the opportunity to survey the separate tableaus taking place.

Over dinner, Wesley had regaled them with tales of his adventures as a student Traveler, and Jean-Luc had felt more than seen Beverly's fidgeting as she tried to contain her motherly objections to his exploits.

Seeing the young man now deep in conversation with Data, it occurred to him that he had watched the two 'grow up' together. Wesley had been an eager adolescent when he first arrived on the ship, and the android's quest to become more human had put him on a similar level. The teenager had respected the officer, but both had to work their way through similar interpersonal relationships. Picard found himself quite proud of the men this 'family' had raised.

That pride was tempered as he turned to the sound of laughter to his left. Riker and Worf were definitely the 'older brothers' of the set, but it was hard to believe that the Klingon's real foster brother, Nikolai, ever teased him the way the first officer did. Will, who had met Jadzia Dax on his few visits to DS9, was quizzing Worf unmercifully about married life. The idea of a Klingon-Trill union had been of particular fascination for Riker from the moment they had received news of the wedding. Geordi chimed in, having learned the art of friendly badgering from the master, to ask if the questions were an attempt to gather supporting empirical data for a decision Riker was trying to make.

Picard wondered if La Forge's words had carried over to where Deanna sat with Beverly in the cluster of chairs by the viewport. The 'better half' of the family, they were the heart and soul of their little group. Each had at some time been confessor, teacher, nursemaid and scold to the men... men who rarely hesitated to let testosterone have a say in their actions.

He couldn't hear what they were talking about, but judging from Beverly's bright eyes and half smile, she was probably trying to keep Deanna's attention from the marriage minded conversation of the men only a few meters away. He settled for admiring the picture they made, framed by the stars. The lithe, statuesque, redheaded doctor and the petite, voluptuous, raven-haired counselor were as physically and temperamentally unlike as two women could be, yet closer than many sisters.

They all knew better than to argue with either one of them, but that didn't stop them from doing it.

He sent Beverly a sly wink, as he turned to pour himself another half glass of wine. It was the real thing, from the Picard vineyard, kept for special occasions such as this. _'Did the others simply not pay attention when Beverly limited herself to one glass -- or did they chose not to think about Beverly and wine at all?'_ Given recent events, he suspected it was the latter.

His idle thought was disrupted as he felt a familiar hand his shoulder, and he reached automatically to slip his arm around Beverly's waist. Pulling her close, he kissed her lightly then whispered something in her ear. She suppressed the laugh that bubbled up but couldn't control the faint blush that colored her cheeks.

The intimate exchange did not go unnoticed, and Jean-Luc took advantage of the stunned silence to casually announce the upcoming wedding. Although he couldn't have surprised them more if he had proclaimed himself king of the Federation, the reaction was quick and overwhelmingly positive.

Deanna was pleased be relieved of her secret burden -- until she realized the couple had no intention of mentioning the other half of their good news just yet. She felt Will's speculative gaze as he tried to determine what she knew and when she knew it.

*****

Three days later...

"Attention all personnel, this is Captain Picard. The Enterprise will reach Earth in less than a week. There will be no hero's welcome, but we do not seek glory. Our reward comes from the knowledge that our actions were right. While inquest will be unpleasant, it is the bad that makes the good all the better. We have all faced a test, a test of ourselves. I am proud of each and every member of the Enterprise crew, and it is my honor to serve with you."

His tone lightened considerably as he continued. "On a more positive note, I intend to see that shore leave is granted to everyone after the hearing, and I expect all of you to take advantage of it. This crew is hereby ordered to be refreshed and ready to go when we return to duty."

"I also have a personal announcement to make. It is my great pleasure to inform you that Dr. Beverly Crusher has done me the honor of agreeing to marry me. I would like to take this opportunity to extend a personal invitation to the entire crew to join us at my home in France to help us celebrate our wedding. Details concerning the arrangements will be forthcoming. Picard out."

*****

Picard had been right -- there was no welcome waiting. Starfleet even went so far as to instruct the Enterprise to dock at McKinley Station during the sparsely staffed late shift.

The captain recognized the deliberate slight for what it was and refused to accept it on behalf of his crew. Subsequently, the Enterprise reported a 'minor engine problem' that delayed them until the height of Alpha shift.

It set the tone for the events that followed.

The inquest was a spectacle of Starfleet crying mea culpa one moment and trying to justify their stance the next. One admiral, who had been a vocal proponent in swaying the Federation council to the Son'a cause, tried to pre-empt the proceedings by calling for charges of treason or at least mutiny in defiance of orders. He was quickly silenced and would a short time later retire into quiet obscurity.

Captain Picard presented evidence of the Son'a plot against the Ba'ku along with the details of the Federation council's collaboration in violation of the Prime Directive. No embellishment was needed, the facts speaking clearly for themselves.

Several council members resigned and a number of admirals were reassigned or simply retired.

Commendations were offered to the Captain and senior staff for upholding Starfleet principles in the face of orders to the contrary. Each officer was coolly polite in declining.

The entire ship's complement was given extended shore leave, more than enough time for everyone to attend the wedding before going their separate ways.

Starfleet, not being informed of the wedding until the last minute, attempted to turn it into an image polishing event, but the guest list was firmly kept to family and crew. More than one admiral's nose was put out of joint by the decision -- which did not bother the couple in the least.

~tbc~


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14

Leaning against the low stone wall that ran the perimeter of the terrace, Picard stared out over the rows of grapes laid out in the distance. Memories of times spent working alongside his father and brother were sharp and poignant. If he listened carefully, he could hear his mother calling him, or René laughing at his 'nephew Jean-Luc'.

He breathed deeply of the spring air that carried the comforting scent of roses from the garden.

Although his visits would now always carry a touch of sadness, it felt good to be home again.

"I must say, sir, you're calmer than I had imagined you would be with the ceremony only minutes away."

The words dispelled the ghosts his thoughts had conjured.

Turning to his best man, Picard replied evenly, "What should I be nervous about, Number One? There's no reason to doubt that this wedding will take place -- not as long as Deanna is there to drag Beverly down the aisle if necessary. As for the future, I have to believe that it will hold more good than bad."

"A future already brightened by the fact that Mom didn't insist on a formal wedding," Wesley added with a snicker.

"What she didn't want was any hint of Starfleet, which meant positively no dress uniforms," Jean-Luc said, unconsciously tugging on the bottom of his shirt, the one small sign that he wasn't quite as calm as he claimed. "I could have married her for that one decision alone!"

He was more than satisfied with the pants and silk shirt that she had chosen for him -- whether the brown-green color matched his hazel eyes or not. Riker and Wesley were similarly attired, though in shades of smoky blue and dark gray respectively.

"Jean-Luc?" Another voice joined the conversation in honeyed tones that matched the owner's petite stature.

Picard knew both were deceptive, having seen Claudine St. Pierre in action a few days earlier presiding over her courtroom with a firm hand that belied her size and her present soft manner. The judge had readily agreed to perform the wedding ceremony for her old friend, primarily for the opportunity to get to know "the woman who finally captured his heart."

Now the tiny, dark-haired woman swept on to the terrace where the men were assembled, taking over the situation in a manner that would have done a starship captain proud. "Jean-Luc, William, it's time to take our places. And you, young man," she said glaring at Wesley in her best judicial manner, "are supposed to be somewhere else entirely."

"Yes, ma'am," the former cadet replied crisply. He disappeared into the house as the others made their way around to the side yard where the guests were assembled.

*****

Deanna stopped fussing with the flowers long enough to respond to the light tap on the door of the master bedroom. "Come in, Wesley."

Grinning ear to ear, he groused, "I may be able to beat the intruder alert, but I guess I still need to work on my 'sneaking-up-on-an-empath' skills."

"There's no such thing, and you know it." Crossing the room, Deanna knocked on another door. "Beverly, you can't get married in the bathroom. There isn't enough room for the guests, and the lighting is terrible."

She stepped back as the door opened slowly, and Beverly appeared, her vibrant auburn hair seeming unnaturally bright as it framed her pale face.

"Deanna, if you could be a little less... chipper... I won't have to kill you." She sat on the edge of the bed, bracing herself with one hand while the other trembled at the base of her throat.

Like most doctors, Beverly had a strong constitution that could be annoying to those with lesser resilience, which made it more disturbing for Wesley to see her this way. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"Sure, if I don't have to stand, sit, move or talk." Her own laughter at the feeble joke was cut short by a soft moan as the bed was jostled when Deanna sat next to her.

"She got hit with a double whammy," the counselor said, smiling over her friend's bent head, "nerves and morning sickness."

"But it's not --"

"Not morning? Try telling that to her stomach."

Concern etched young Crusher's face. "No, I'm going to tell them we have to wait."

"Wesley, wait!" Beverly's hand was steadier as she reached out to him. Moving quickly to her side, he clasped her hand tightly. "I'm fine, really. It's eased considerably. I just wish the morning sickness hadn't picked today to start up." She grimaced and lost what little color she had regained. "Oh gods, I shouldn't have said 'up'."

Taking her other hand, Wesley crouched down in front of her. "Mom, close your eyes and breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. That's it, even, regular breaths. Remember that trip we took when I was about nine to Lake Rel'eeb on Ajed III? Remember how the breeze made the leaves dance and the way the sunlight sparkled on the water? Think about how cool and peaceful it was..."

He talked on, calming her, giving the nausea time to recede and her color to return.

After a couple of minutes, her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at her son, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "Thank you. What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful son?"

"I don't know, but you'll probably pay for it with this next baby. Are you sure you don't want to wait an hour or so?"

She shook her head, rising from the bed to test her legs. "Jean-Luc would think I was backing out, and this won't be going away for a couple of months anyway." Moving to the full length cheval mirror in the corner, she checked her make-up then wrinkled her nose. "Morning sickness is just what our honeymoon needs -- wake up, throw up; eat, throw up; make love, throw up. I can hardly wait."

It was Wesley's turn to make a face. "Mom, remember when you said there were things that were none of my business? Well, you can put that last comment of yours pretty high on the list."

They all looked up as Marie Picard appeared at the door. Her eyes misted as she looked at the next soul brave enough to join the ranks of Picard women. "You look beautiful, Beverly. Everything is ready... and he's waiting for you."

In a flurry of hugs and a correction as to who had whose flowers, they were out the door.

*****

_'Brahms? No, Mozart,'_ Jean-Luc decided as he listened to the music playing softly in the background. Data's string quartet had offered to provide music for the ceremony as their wedding present, inspiring other groups to offer their services for the reception. The bride and groom had readily accepted, deeply touched by their friends' generosity.

Standing beneath the latticework arch that had been constructed for the ceremony with Claudine two steps behind him, Will to his left, the music drifting just under his consciousness, Jean-Luc found a faint flaw in Anij's philosophy.

Some moments slowed of their own accord, anticipation drawing them out interminably so that when time returned to its normal pace the next moments seemed to fly by. He was ready for time to fly, so long as it brought Beverly to him.

The music swelled, heralding the arrival of the bridal party. From the corner of his eye, Jean-Luc saw Will's reaction as Deanna came into view. Her chiffon dress was a shade or so lighter than Riker's outfit, the bodice clinging while the skirt was full, swirling just above her knees as she moved down the aisle. He was glad Will was there to admire the counselor for his own gaze was focused on the shadowed doorway as he waited for his life to begin.

He felt his mechanical heart speed up as Beverly stepped into the dappled sunlight streaming through the trees, her right hand tucked into the crook of Wesley's arm.

Her empire style gown of antique ecru lace over cream satin was tea length, revealing only slender ankles above matching satin shoes. Three cream colored rosebuds nestled in an upsweep of auburn curls, echoing the small bouquet she carried. Diamond and pearl teardrop earrings that had been worn by generations of Howard women were her only jewelry.

Beverly was as singularly concentrated on him as he was on her. The sight of his gentle smile and eyes full of love banished the last of her nerves. As her tunnel vision cleared, her breath caught in an inaudible gasp as she recognized the additional decoration on the arch.

_'Grapevines and heather. No wonder he had Deanna keep me away.'_

Arriving at the altar, Wesley shook hands with his soon-to-be stepfather, then kissed his mother's cheek before placing her hand in Jean-Luc's.

In the glow of a beautiful spring day, the ceremony was dutifully solemn and reverent...

...the reception was another matter entirely.

The guests were celebrating not only the wedding but surviving the Briar Patch and the inquest as well. Spirits were high although everyone remained mindful that they were in the Captain's home. Laughter filled the house as it had not done for too many years now.

Riker remained mindful of his Starfleet position when making his toast as best man, but Wesley considered himself unhindered by such restrictions. He wished his mother and new stepfather happiness and joy then playfully bemoaned the fact that he would have to wait seven and a half months to meet his new baby brother or sister.

Belatedly understanding why Beverly had tried to talk him out of letting Wesley make the announcement, Jean-Luc blushed as furiously as his lovely bride as the news registered with the assembled guests. Congratulations were plentiful and sincere even as happily speculative whispers rippled through the crew at warp speed.

*****

Beverly tried to keep her attention on whatever it was Alyssa and Selar were talking about, but she found herself wishing that everyone would simply go home. She hadn't seen Jean-Luc for nearly an hour and had no idea where he might be at the moment.

_'We could have left all of them here to party as long as they wanted if I had only agreed to Jean-Luc's plan to go to Paris tonight, but nooo, I had to spend my first night as Mrs. Picard under the Picard roof.'_ She shook her head ruefully at her own short-sightedness. _'Barely six weeks along and this pregnancy is already sucking the brain cells right out of me.'_

She jumped slightly as a warm hand came to rest at the small of her back.

Acknowledging her companions, Jean-Luc said, "If you'll both excuse us, Beverly, may I see you a moment? In the library?"

She nodded and let him lead her down the short hallway, knowing he was as eager to get away for a few minutes as she was.

He opened the door and stepped through causing her to nearly collide with him when he stopped just as she crossed the threshold. Turning, he reached around her to push the door closed. She tried to move past him, but he blocked her way, backing her against the door.

Before she could react, he leaned in. "You know what? I suddenly realized that I haven't really kissed you since we got married."

He immediately rectified the situation, brushing his lips across hers over and over again, tenderly yet insistently and very thoroughly.

Beverly moaned softly, her earlier annoyance washed away in the overpowering sensations he was creating as his mouth coerced her into giving more. Gasping for air, she pulled away as far as the door at her back would allow, then dropped her head to rest in the curve of his neck. She could feel his pulse beating rapidly and was pleased to know that his calm façade was just that.

His hands came up to gently massage the tightness in her shoulders, and he said softly, "I should have asked this first, but how are you feeling? Deanna told me about the morning sickness."

"And the nerves?" She spoke into his chest making it difficult for him to tell if it was because she was still trying to catch her breath or because she was embarrassed.

"Yes, but I knew you wouldn't let either one stop the wedding."

Shifting a bit, Beverly kissed her way up his throat. "I know something Deanna couldn't tell you."

"What's that?"

"Between bouts of nausea and borderline hysterics, I ran a tricorder scan." She raised her head to look at him, eyes sparkling. "What do you think we should name our son?"

His hand slipped into her hair, pulling her to him so that he could kiss her again, harder now, his eternal hunger for her flaring to life. This time it was he who broke the kiss, letting his lips trace her jaw line.

"A boy, hmm?" He swirled his tongue over that special spot under her ear, his sigh echoing hers. "Well, I guess I'll just have to make the best of it."

Caught in a haze of desire, it took a moment for his words to register. She blinked, surprised and a bit disappointed by his response. "You're not pleased?"

"The baby only has to be healthy to please me," Jean-Luc assured her, "but I did rather have my heart set on a little girl with red hair and blue eyes. One with her mother's talent for dancing -- and her temper. One that would bounce out of bed every morning simply to see what the new day would bring her."

Beverly laughed at the image, knowing that both she and Jean-Luc weren't morning people themselves. They were early risers now only by habit, not by nature, and conversations before breakfast were best avoided if at all possible. Having anticipated a far different reaction to her news that the baby was a boy, she marveled at this unexpectedly fanciful side of him. "What about when she got older? When she found out that love doesn't always end in 'happily ever after'?"

"I would have no qualms about using all my Starfleet command training to scare the living hell out of anyone who broke her heart. Of course, I could do that for a son as well, but I thought I'd give you that privilege."

"And you really think our son wants his mommy fighting his battles for him?"

"Not all his battles, love, just the ones that threaten the warm, open, sensitive side that you're going to try so hard to nurture in him, so that he won't become a foolish, hard headed old man like his father."

"Whether it's by nature or by nurture, this baby doesn't stand a chance of not being hard headed. We're his parents, remember?"

"Yes, but..." He broke off, annoyed with himself for getting sidetracked from his original purpose. Taking her hand, he led her away from the door to the navy leather wing chair next to the fireplace where he sat down and pulled her on to his lap. "I'm very happy we're having a baby -- and that it's a boy -- but we have months to prepare for that. I brought you in here for a reason, and it most certainly was not for a discussion on parenthood."

One graceful eyebrow arched with questioning innuendo. "And just what did you bring me in here for?"

"To tell you," he said, kissing her softly, "and show you," another kiss, "how much I love you."

"I love you, Jean-Luc," she answered somewhere between a murmur and a moan, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

Reaching down, his hand slipped under the hem of her gown to caress one shapely leg where it lay draped over the side of the chair. "I hate this dress," he muttered, nuzzling her neck.

"I know," she replied, not offended in the least. "I wanted your attention on the ceremony, not on my legs."

Jean-Luc sighed in endearing petulance. "But you know how much I love your legs. Couldn't you have worn something like Deanna's dress?"

She caught his chin, pulling him up to face her. "And just what do you know about Deanna's dress?"

"I was standing next to Will." He chuckled at the memory. "His reaction was distinctly... appreciative."

"Why don't we forget about them," she suggested, unfastening his shirt with deliberate intent, "and you can start 'appreciating' me."

"My darling wife, I intend to do that for the rest of our lives," he vowed drawing her to him for another kiss.

Kissing was fine, but doing anything else proved awkward. She squirmed against him trying to find a more accessible position. Her movements elicited a groan from Jean-Luc, and his grip on her leg tightened almost painfully. She pulled back to look at him, her own frustration mirrored in his eyes. "Well, the chair was your idea. Why did we sit here?" she sulked.

"Because we're less likely to get carried away here, whereas on the couch..." His words trailed off, leaving behind a silence filled with suggestion, and he could see the faint blush that indicated her inventive imagination had leapt instantly into action. He gave her a gentle shake to get her mind back on the conversation. "Anyway, we still have guests out there. Guests who are probably wondering where the bride and groom have disappeared to."

As if on cue, there was a rap at the door.

"Captain?"

Beverly fought back the urge to scream. Resting her forehead against his, she said, "Jean-Luc, do you really need a first officer?"

"Perhaps not," he said, adding a placating kiss, "but I prefer not to have my wife of two hours arrested for murder, however justifiable her actions."

"Captain?" the summons came again. "Are you in there, sir?" The humor was clear in his voice, telling them he already knew the answer.

Beverly fielded the inquiry. "Will Riker, if you touch that door one more time, I will personally see to it that the next reputation you earn is as the finest shuttle pilot ever to be assigned to the Earth-Saturn run. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Madame Picard!" came the laughing reply.

It was muffled, but they could also hear Deanna's reproach. "I told you to leave them alone!"

"No, you told me not to go in, and I didn't." The rest of the discussion went unheard as the pair outside moved away from the door and the couple inside lost interest in anything but each other.

~tbc~


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15

Word of the Ba'ku incident had spread throughout Starfleet and much of the Federation, enhancing the Enterprise's already legendary status. Picard and his staff were suddenly in even greater demand as mediators and facilitators, a fact that Headquarters was forced to live with if they had any hope of restoring its reputation.

The Picards returned from their honeymoon, refreshed and as eager as the rest of the crew to get back to work. Deanna had been kind enough to oversee the transfer of their belongings from their separate cabins into a larger set of family quarters. She did some unpacking so that it would feel a bit like home but left most of the decorating to them -- especially the nursery.

Figuring out how to fit their lives together was not without its awkward moments. It was one thing to share breakfast and the occasional dinner or to appear at a public event, it was quite another matter for two people who were used to living alone to figure out how to share a joint space. Jean-Luc became accustomed to discovering his wife's lingerie mixed in with his socks, while Beverly learned to keep track of the latest book her husband was reading which he was constantly mislaying.

Arguments over policy and procedure were as volatile as ever, but they both made a concerted effort to keep the disagreements confined to on-duty hours and not let them spill over into their private time. Extra hours that had been spent separately in their respective offices were now shared in their quarters, the necessary reports and reading still getting done, but the solitary pursuits were tempered by the supportive presence of another person.

Once or twice an irrational fear did pop up, but they found that their fears were somehow less intimidating and much easier to deal with together.

*****

A fresh cup of tea within easy reach on the desk, Jean-Luc settled into his chair, activated the terminal and placed his call.

The face that looked back at him was as beautiful as ever, a few strands of gray highlighting her auburn hair. It continually amazed him that the one thing he and his brother had unwittingly shared was an excellent taste in women.

It also surprised him that his two best friends were redhaired women, although Marie didn't quite have Beverly's temper. There was a closeness to their relationship neither had anticipated but that both appreciated now more than ever. Robert was the original contact point, connecting Picard to his home and connecting Marie to the brother-in-law she had only heard about. Eventually they had found common ground of their own, and their friendship had seen them both through the devastating loss of Robert and René, to make peace with it and move on.

"Jean-Luc, I didn't expect to hear from you again until the baby was born." Marie's smile faded suddenly into worry. "There's nothing wrong is there? Is Beverly all right -- and the baby?"

"I do call more often than that," he admonished gently, "but to put your mind at ease, we're all perfectly healthy. Beverly is busily directing a new play even as we speak."

"One involving a medieval castle perhaps?"

"No, I think she's given up on that one for now, if not completely. This one is more of a challenge, though. She's cast Data as the lead in a comedy of all things."

"Data? A comedian? Well, if anyone can do it, it's Beverly." She cast an appraising eye over him. "How are you getting on with your own challenge?"

"My challenge?"

"Married life. You remember, that 'up close and personal' tour of duty you signed up for a few months ago."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know why people say marriage is so difficult. Aside from the fact that Beverly and I are now sharing quarters, not much has changed." As hard as he tried, he couldn't keep a straight face. "Seriously, I always looked forward to our time spent together, but it feels so different to... have someone to 'come home to' instead of just spending a few hours together over a meal or ship function. I find it hard to believe that I considered myself to be quite content with my life before all this happened."

"Any regrets?" The question was soft, gently probing.

"Only a small one, that it took me so long to get to this point. All I can do is to accept that this is the way it was meant to be."

"Are you that philosophical about your impending fatherhood?"

He grinned, still delighting in the term he had never expected to be applied to him. "Well, now that is something entirely different. Beverly claims I don't have to be prepared, because despite having been a mother once already, she has no idea of how to do it this time around."

"Her circumstances are rather different. How is she coping?"

"Do you mean Beverly the doctor or Beverly the ungainly, waddling baby making machine?"

"Jean-Luc!" Marie wasn't as shocked as she pretended to be. Beverly had used the same phrase in her last letter.

He raised his hands as if to ward off a verbal attack. "Those are her words not mine."

Her smile was back, knowing and sympathetic. "The great hormone shift. I remember it well."

"That's basically what she called it. She tried to warn me about it, but it can be a sight to behold when she gets all the way to the irrational stage. Fortunately," he added, absently running a hand over his head, "that is the rare extreme."

Marie's heart did a little flip-flop at the familiar Picard gesture. "What do you do about it? If I remember correctly, it was at about this point that Robert threatened to sleep in the winery office until Rene was born."

He heard the subtle catch in her voice at the now bittersweet memory, and not for the first time, regretted not being able to share and compare this experience with his brother.

"Living in my Ready Room is not an option," he replied at last, "not that I would consider going even that far. All I can do is tell her that I love her. To which she replies that I am being patronizing."

"It's not your love that concerns her, Jean-Luc," Marie said, turning serious. "She's afraid that you will lose your desire for her. You're a diplomat, a master of words, that's why she feels patronized. For Beverly, your actions are going to mean more than your words."

It was a theory he hadn't considered. "Which would be why the poetry I programmed to magically appear on her terminal screen has failed?"

"Shakespeare?" His face told her the guess was correct. "She quotes it as easily as you do. Why should she be impressed?"

"Because I only started out with Shakespeare until I worked up the nerve to send her my own work."

She nodded in surprise and admiration. "Oh-ho, the great man exposes a heretofore unknown side. Tell me, did you stick with the safe, lovey-dovey mush or were you brave enough," her voice dropped as she leaned in, "to send her something good and dirty?"

"Marie!" He wasn't sure if his discomfort came from the subject matter or the fact that he was having this conversation with his sister-in-law.

"Fine, 'passionately erotic' if that term suits you better," she relented. It was a pleasure to remind him that he was a human being and not just a starship captain. "As I said a moment ago, hearts and flowers would be fine any other time, but you've got yourself a new bride who also happens to be in an advanced state of pregnancy. Stop talking and do something."

"Since you're the expert on her perspective, do you have any suggestions?"

Marie's sigh was exaggerated enough to draw a laugh from both of them. "For a man who writes poetry, you don't exercise your imagination very much. You've got all that marvelous holodeck technology at your disposal, use it. Pick a place you've always wanted to go... or perhaps somewhere you've been together. Don't get too exotic this time around so she won't think you're trying to bolster some mental fantasy that doesn't include a pregnant lover. And be sure to do it when you have plenty of time to do it right. Romance does not squeeze well into the odd hour between negotiations or surgeries. Take your time and enjoy each other."

He waved her off before she could gather steam for another list of instructions. "I think I get the idea, and thank you for your input. Now that we've solved that, tell me how you're doing."

"Keeping busy. The vineyard was settled for the winter weeks ago. There's a tasting tomorrow to decide about blending, and I..."

"Marie," he interrupted softly, "We'll talk about the vineyard some other time. I want to know how you're doing."

She looked at him, wondering what to say and how to say it. They always shared much of their pain silently but healing needed words. "It doesn't hurt as badly to go out there as it did, but I'm glad I took this smaller place in the village. At the vineyard, I still see Robert and René everywhere. I can finally look at the new barn, but I've never been able to make myself go in it." Eyes glittering with unshed tears she paused, gathering herself. "I'm glad you and Beverly were married here. It was time for the house to be happy again."

He knew what she meant... with one correction. "It was time for all of us to be happy again."

They talked on for another half hour, catching up and sharing small details that might not have made it into a letter.

At the sound of a clock chiming, Marie glanced over her shoulder then turned her attention back to the viewer. "Well, I have to be up early tomorrow to go to the vineyard. Remember what I told you, Jean-Luc -- actions, not words and take the time to do it right. I won't ask for details, but let me know how things go. Good night and give Beverly my love."

"I will. Take care of yourself, Marie."

Jean-Luc sat staring at the dark terminal screen, thinking about Marie's advice. His and Beverly's six month anniversary was less than two weeks away. That would be the perfect time to put it to good use, but how? Mulling it over, he picked up his tea only to be startled by the unexpectedly sharp taste of the cold, bitter dregs left in his cup.

His mind still on the problem at hand, he rose and moved toward the reclaimator, only to be sidetracked as his attention was drawn to a book laying open on the dining table.

It was one of Felisa Howard's intergalactic herb catalogs. Beverly had been looking through it earlier in search of... what was it? Ah, yes, she had wanted some alternatives for her bath oil. Many of her favorite scents weren't safe to use during pregnancy, and she didn't want to take any chances.

He chuckled, recalling the night she had confessed just how close he had come to getting a rose scented bath.

His fingers tapped out an unconscious rhythm on the open page as the glimmer of an idea began to form.

*****

Jean-Luc out did himself, recreating the castle bathing chamber in a holodeck program with a few modifications strictly for comfort. He eliminated the cold floors and drafts and then enlarged the tub so that it would hold both of them in future uses.

This time, however, he indulged his fantasy of reversed places. He was the attendant who brushed and pinned up Beverly's hair, helped her disrobe then assisted her into the tub, with its heady, floral scented bubbles.

He mimicked her original actions, beginning with gentle strokes of the cloth along her back and shoulders. She sighed softly, enjoying her husband's ministrations.

His arms came around her just as hers had, and her hands came up to cover his as they cupped her tender breasts. Not wanting to get carried away too soon, he placed half a dozen feather-light kisses to her neck and shoulder before moving down to the far end of the tub.

Beverly obligingly lifted her foot, grateful for his firm grip as her pregnancy made the position slightly awkward. He smiled as he ran the cloth slowly over her graceful, sculpted dancer's legs that he so adored.

That done, he moved to the side of the tub so that he could run the cloth in soothing circles over her rounded abdomen, and was rewarded with a flurry of kicks as their son expressed his approval.

The bath complete, he checked to make sure the rinse water had not cooled before helping her to her feet then proceeded to remove most of the clinging bubbles.

Jean-Luc wrapped her in a large fluffy towel, cautiously guided her from the tub and led her to the roaring fire to keep her warm. Using another towel, he knelt and carefully dried her feet and legs, pausing to place lingering kisses to the backs of her knees. More kisses trailed in the wake of the towel -- the small of her back, her shoulders, the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts.

Massaging rich, fragrant lotion into her skin was his next task, earning him more sighs of contentment as he paid special attention to the stretched skin of her belly.

The pampering was marvelous, but Beverly had had enough when he tried to wrap her in the towel once more. The towel fell away as her hands made short work of his clothes between kisses. The flickering firelight burnished his skin, highlighting and shadowing the taut muscles she had fantasized about that long ago night. The muscles she had learned so well in the days and nights since then.

He broke their kiss long enough instruct the computer to replace the tub with the four poster bed they had shared on their first night together. Her half-hearted protests were shushed as he lifted her easily and carried her to the bed. He looked down at her for a long moment, memorizing the vision of her laying among the snowy pillows and linens, glowing with love and passion and pregnancy. She could never be more beautiful to him than she was at that moment -- which was precisely the way he felt every time he looked at her.

Blushing under his scrutiny, Beverly opened her arms to him, welcoming him home.

**Epilogue**

Beverly slept peacefully, their newborn son nestled beside her, but Jean-Luc was certain it would be some time before he would close his eyes tonight. There was another bed in the family style Sickbay room they had been settled into after the delivery, but he didn't want to be where he couldn't touch her.

Pulling the chair closer to her side, he rested his arm on the edge of the bed and cradled his head so that he could see both their faces, arm pressed against hers as it lay wrapped around the baby.

His beautiful Beverly, and their tiny, perfect Jean-Paul.

He sighed contentedly as he counted the amazing changes in his life. He was at last married to the woman he had loved for longer than he could remember, and she had given him a gift he had never hoped for, not even in his wildest imaginings. It seemed somehow fitting that the purest symbol of their love should be born on this day.

As sleep overtook him, Jean-Luc's last thought was to wonder if her Nana's ancient teachings had included the story of St. Valentine.

The End


End file.
